y'all were too slow. for that, a WIP:
May. 28th, 2002 02:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aruanTitle: Watershed
Author: Jules Stanton
Category: Episode-related, hopefully. Want to set it early in the season, just after Hourglass, but it has a more post-Kinetic bent in my head right now. I fully intend to incorporate more plot.
Spoilers: Pilot at moment present. The vaguest ones for later eps.
Rating: R
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd pose and experiment and make all necessary sleep sacrifices to find a way to make Lex look disheveled.
Summary: Lex is angry. Clark is confused. I make no guarantees that things will get better.
Lex likes water. Whether it's the manor's indoor pool or his cases of imported Ty Nant stored like fine wine in the cellar, he loves the way it feels: light, lapping, enveloping him in its ebb and flow. Light as a silk scarf or brutal enough to erode mountains, water could soothe or turn on you to become the most torturous tease, infinitely adaptable to any need or form. As a human, his next most imminent need to oxygen. As an unfish, nearly his unmaking.
Ah, Clark.
He looks up and smiles ruefully at his reflection in the dressing mirror before him. My hero in shining blue jeans. My beautiful liar.
He'll be the death of me yet.
Tries not to scowl at the IOU he already holds on Lex's life.
Lex raises his bottle in mock salute and puts it to his lips. Instead of drinking, he swirls the cool liquid around his tongue, letting his eyes slip closed and enjoying the way it takes on his body temperature almost instantly, finally swallowing in deliberately timed bobs of his Adam's apple.
Sighs in dissatisfaction and sets the glass down before he's tempted to make good on his twitching fingers' urge to seal his victory by shattering it on the opposing wall. He could make the very embodiment of the force of nature conform to his will, yet the answers to a very tangible Rubik's cube in the form of his blue Porsche and the criminally underage body of the eminently fuckable Clark Kent resisted solving.
Ah, Clark. Less rueful this time as his cock mimicked his fingers' earlier reflex. Lex rubs the back of his neck with his chilled hand and squeezes his eyes shut. Fuck you, Clark. Fuck you and your lies and your cocksucking lips and your damnably disarming smile. Fuck your wholesome Midwestern farmboy facade, fuck you from the hair on your head to the calluses on your heel and it still wouldn't be justice.
"Lex?"
Fuck. Just fuck.
"You upstairs? There was no one in the kitchen and my mom needed to know how many of those green apples you wanted when they're ripe next week." Lex could already hear him taking the steps two at a time as he spoke, and why shouldn't he feel like he could wander the grounds as he saw fit, but damn it, Lex did not want to see him right now. Not when the bitter taste of venom like bile was rising in his throat at merely the sound of Clark's voice even as his cock rebelled and was half hard before Clark appeared in the open doorway. "Hey."
God but he was fucked.
Clark was all flushed cheeks and bright eyes, a smile playing on his lips as it always did when he first caught Lex even as a blur in peripheral vision, innocence in it only belying whatever made the edges crinkle.
"Hey, Clark." Nice, Lex, could we have possibly injected that with a little more antipathy? He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his black slacks for emphasis, damn it. He offers his own in return, more like a twisted sneer under politely pressed lips. "Three dozen would be fine."
The smile Lex always wanted to kiss off Clark's face with all the finesse of a raging hurricane fell and was replaced with a concerned knit of eyebrows. Clark glanced about the space, but not daring to come closer than where he stood, just inside the threshold. "Uh, yeah, okay, I'll tell her." Pause. Quick dart of tongue to wet his lips and his eyes finally come back to focus on Lex. "Is everything alright?"
Sure Clark. Why should being exiled by one's father to the armpit of his empire, living to tell the stories of three near-death experiences in twice as many months, and having friends who survive more than fatal automobile-meets-boy-meets-metal-railing crashes and remain spry enough to peel off car roofs like the top of a sardine can to emerge the hero of the day and convince you into madness that you only imagined the terror on his face as you watched the Porsche's hood plow into his solar plexus?
"Sure, Clark." He didn't elaborate. It would've been overkill. Clark could probably taste his resentment by proxy as surely as if he'd stuck his tongue down Lex's throat himself. "Did you need anything else? I was going to get some paperwork out of the way before the plant board meeting tomorrow." Knows he is being a real bastard, and now Clark's posture was showing all the signs of taking root right here until Lex either dropped the attitude or threw him out forcibly. Lex had guessed by now that Option B was as moot a point as breathing life into the dead (ha!) and inwardly cursed himself. "Just let's not tonight, okay? You go home to Mother Kent and her meatloaf and I'll do whatever rich boys in drafty castles find to entertain themselves and their cobweb denizens, but no games tonight, Clark."
At this he does move to walk around Clark, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy's puzzled ones, like reflecting pools of his furiously searching mind, gauging how to even approach this Lex without getting his hand bitten for his trouble. Good, Lex thought, be a good boy and know when you're out of your league. Live to fight another day.
A strong grip on his shoulder breaks his deliberate forging to the brandy in his office. The whirl around is of his own volition. "You really have an underdeveloped sense of self-preservation, don't you, Clark. Go. Home. For once since we've met listen to someone else when they're trying to look out for your best interest."
"You couldn't hurt me, Lex." He was still holding Lex's shoulder, firm enough to assert the truth of his softly spoken words. So matter of fact. So open, his eyes boring into Lex's in the hopes of finding whatever it was that put him on the business end of Lex's tone. And the words, oh his words. The irony alone was enough to wring a bitten-off laugh from Lex.
"No, Clark, I don't suppose I could," he says as he tears his eyes away to sear a path down Clark's body, throat to solid chest to well-defined abs he knew lay just beneath the soft cotton layers, lingering a bit around his crotch before moving back up to regard the hand fastened on his jacket. "Physically, anyway. But there are many, many ways to hit a man where it hurts much more than a gash that can be stitched up or a bruise that heals within a week." He was returning Clark's intense gaze now, all challenge to defy a Luthor on his home ground, at his own game. He brings his left hand out of his pocket to trace the makeshift lapel of Clark's opened coat. "Places that are softer than the insides of your elbows and more tender than your fingers just after you learned the hot stove correlation." His eyes meet Clark's again and he leans forward through the already whisper of a space between them to speak his next words right into Clark's ear. "Know that. Remember who I am and what I can be capable of. I can make your life a living hell without ever even touching you, Clark."
To his credit, the boy doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink, doesn't give any clue but the quick involuntary clench of his jaw, bringing his five o'clock shadow to rasp against Lex's cheek. The sound was almost deafening, but the feel of it -- Lex couldn't resist repeating the contact, ending with the tip of his nose as he moves around the statue of Clark's suddenly rigid body to walk back down the hall.
-i need a reason for Lex to be angry. if it ends up being post-Kinetic, it'll be something about the disk, though that would involve Clark pressing before Lex got angry so scratch that. i don't know. i needed Lex to walk in angry, but like Miranda said, angst and darkness for their own sake are kind of pointless, no matter how much i love both. also, what does Lex do in the end? does he walk to his bedroom? downstairs to the garage to go for a drive? does he even make it three steps before Clark grabs him again, maybe just super!speeds it in front of lex to stop him? does this end well, and by well, i mean smutty?
sigh. enough for tonight. the above took me three hours, kids, and i think that's all you can wring from my exhausted brain for now. more later if you're cookie-worthy. ;)
Author: Jules Stanton
Category: Episode-related, hopefully. Want to set it early in the season, just after Hourglass, but it has a more post-Kinetic bent in my head right now. I fully intend to incorporate more plot.
Spoilers: Pilot at moment present. The vaguest ones for later eps.
Rating: R
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd pose and experiment and make all necessary sleep sacrifices to find a way to make Lex look disheveled.
Summary: Lex is angry. Clark is confused. I make no guarantees that things will get better.
Lex likes water. Whether it's the manor's indoor pool or his cases of imported Ty Nant stored like fine wine in the cellar, he loves the way it feels: light, lapping, enveloping him in its ebb and flow. Light as a silk scarf or brutal enough to erode mountains, water could soothe or turn on you to become the most torturous tease, infinitely adaptable to any need or form. As a human, his next most imminent need to oxygen. As an unfish, nearly his unmaking.
Ah, Clark.
He looks up and smiles ruefully at his reflection in the dressing mirror before him. My hero in shining blue jeans. My beautiful liar.
He'll be the death of me yet.
Tries not to scowl at the IOU he already holds on Lex's life.
Lex raises his bottle in mock salute and puts it to his lips. Instead of drinking, he swirls the cool liquid around his tongue, letting his eyes slip closed and enjoying the way it takes on his body temperature almost instantly, finally swallowing in deliberately timed bobs of his Adam's apple.
Sighs in dissatisfaction and sets the glass down before he's tempted to make good on his twitching fingers' urge to seal his victory by shattering it on the opposing wall. He could make the very embodiment of the force of nature conform to his will, yet the answers to a very tangible Rubik's cube in the form of his blue Porsche and the criminally underage body of the eminently fuckable Clark Kent resisted solving.
Ah, Clark. Less rueful this time as his cock mimicked his fingers' earlier reflex. Lex rubs the back of his neck with his chilled hand and squeezes his eyes shut. Fuck you, Clark. Fuck you and your lies and your cocksucking lips and your damnably disarming smile. Fuck your wholesome Midwestern farmboy facade, fuck you from the hair on your head to the calluses on your heel and it still wouldn't be justice.
"Lex?"
Fuck. Just fuck.
"You upstairs? There was no one in the kitchen and my mom needed to know how many of those green apples you wanted when they're ripe next week." Lex could already hear him taking the steps two at a time as he spoke, and why shouldn't he feel like he could wander the grounds as he saw fit, but damn it, Lex did not want to see him right now. Not when the bitter taste of venom like bile was rising in his throat at merely the sound of Clark's voice even as his cock rebelled and was half hard before Clark appeared in the open doorway. "Hey."
God but he was fucked.
Clark was all flushed cheeks and bright eyes, a smile playing on his lips as it always did when he first caught Lex even as a blur in peripheral vision, innocence in it only belying whatever made the edges crinkle.
"Hey, Clark." Nice, Lex, could we have possibly injected that with a little more antipathy? He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his black slacks for emphasis, damn it. He offers his own in return, more like a twisted sneer under politely pressed lips. "Three dozen would be fine."
The smile Lex always wanted to kiss off Clark's face with all the finesse of a raging hurricane fell and was replaced with a concerned knit of eyebrows. Clark glanced about the space, but not daring to come closer than where he stood, just inside the threshold. "Uh, yeah, okay, I'll tell her." Pause. Quick dart of tongue to wet his lips and his eyes finally come back to focus on Lex. "Is everything alright?"
Sure Clark. Why should being exiled by one's father to the armpit of his empire, living to tell the stories of three near-death experiences in twice as many months, and having friends who survive more than fatal automobile-meets-boy-meets-metal-railing crashes and remain spry enough to peel off car roofs like the top of a sardine can to emerge the hero of the day and convince you into madness that you only imagined the terror on his face as you watched the Porsche's hood plow into his solar plexus?
"Sure, Clark." He didn't elaborate. It would've been overkill. Clark could probably taste his resentment by proxy as surely as if he'd stuck his tongue down Lex's throat himself. "Did you need anything else? I was going to get some paperwork out of the way before the plant board meeting tomorrow." Knows he is being a real bastard, and now Clark's posture was showing all the signs of taking root right here until Lex either dropped the attitude or threw him out forcibly. Lex had guessed by now that Option B was as moot a point as breathing life into the dead (ha!) and inwardly cursed himself. "Just let's not tonight, okay? You go home to Mother Kent and her meatloaf and I'll do whatever rich boys in drafty castles find to entertain themselves and their cobweb denizens, but no games tonight, Clark."
At this he does move to walk around Clark, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy's puzzled ones, like reflecting pools of his furiously searching mind, gauging how to even approach this Lex without getting his hand bitten for his trouble. Good, Lex thought, be a good boy and know when you're out of your league. Live to fight another day.
A strong grip on his shoulder breaks his deliberate forging to the brandy in his office. The whirl around is of his own volition. "You really have an underdeveloped sense of self-preservation, don't you, Clark. Go. Home. For once since we've met listen to someone else when they're trying to look out for your best interest."
"You couldn't hurt me, Lex." He was still holding Lex's shoulder, firm enough to assert the truth of his softly spoken words. So matter of fact. So open, his eyes boring into Lex's in the hopes of finding whatever it was that put him on the business end of Lex's tone. And the words, oh his words. The irony alone was enough to wring a bitten-off laugh from Lex.
"No, Clark, I don't suppose I could," he says as he tears his eyes away to sear a path down Clark's body, throat to solid chest to well-defined abs he knew lay just beneath the soft cotton layers, lingering a bit around his crotch before moving back up to regard the hand fastened on his jacket. "Physically, anyway. But there are many, many ways to hit a man where it hurts much more than a gash that can be stitched up or a bruise that heals within a week." He was returning Clark's intense gaze now, all challenge to defy a Luthor on his home ground, at his own game. He brings his left hand out of his pocket to trace the makeshift lapel of Clark's opened coat. "Places that are softer than the insides of your elbows and more tender than your fingers just after you learned the hot stove correlation." His eyes meet Clark's again and he leans forward through the already whisper of a space between them to speak his next words right into Clark's ear. "Know that. Remember who I am and what I can be capable of. I can make your life a living hell without ever even touching you, Clark."
To his credit, the boy doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink, doesn't give any clue but the quick involuntary clench of his jaw, bringing his five o'clock shadow to rasp against Lex's cheek. The sound was almost deafening, but the feel of it -- Lex couldn't resist repeating the contact, ending with the tip of his nose as he moves around the statue of Clark's suddenly rigid body to walk back down the hall.
-i need a reason for Lex to be angry. if it ends up being post-Kinetic, it'll be something about the disk, though that would involve Clark pressing before Lex got angry so scratch that. i don't know. i needed Lex to walk in angry, but like Miranda said, angst and darkness for their own sake are kind of pointless, no matter how much i love both. also, what does Lex do in the end? does he walk to his bedroom? downstairs to the garage to go for a drive? does he even make it three steps before Clark grabs him again, maybe just super!speeds it in front of lex to stop him? does this end well, and by well, i mean smutty?
sigh. enough for tonight. the above took me three hours, kids, and i think that's all you can wring from my exhausted brain for now. more later if you're cookie-worthy. ;)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
so much love your way for that :)
Date: May 28th, 2002 07:50 pm (UTC)