Fic: Kodachrome (Smallville AU Clark/Lex) PG
Title: Kodachrome
Fandom: Smallville (AU)
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Author: HYPERFocused
Rating: PG
Summary: Clark wants to shoot the truth, Lex doesn't want to pose any more. AU
Disclaimer: not my boys, not even the bad pictures with red eye.
Notes: written for the Contrelamontre four word challenge using all of the alloted 90 minutes. Also for Bookends: A Simon and Garfunkel Title Challenge Will likely be expanded and posted elsewhere soon.
When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school, it's a wonder I can think at all... -Paul Simon
The proverbial crisp fall day, and Clark Kent was walking home from school. Most days he took the short way home, cutting through fields and farms to get to his house, and help out with the chores. His short cut was faster than anyone else's. Of course no one else had the benefit of being a supremely strong alien with uncanny powers.
Today was different. Instead of speeding home, because really, why be in a hurry to get to hay baling and helping his dad vaccinate the cows, he decided to take a different route. Five minutes after classes let out - as soon as Pete helped him give Chloe the slip - he was walking through the slums of Edge City.
Often times he cursed his powers; would have gladly traded them in for a chance at normalcy. He should be happy. He could run faster than the cars at the Metropolis 500, see through walls, people, and when concentrated very hard, all the way into space. But the only time he was truly happy was when he had a camera in his hand, an eye at the lens. It was only through the viewfinder that he could share his true visions with the world.
He'd gotten his first camera when he was five. His language skills were still lagging slightly, but when he found the instamatic up in his parents' attic, he'd taken an appropriately instant liking to it.
He had a keen eye for photography, even at such a young age. By the time he was in third grade, Jonathan had fixed up his old 35 millimeter for Clark to use. Clark earned film and processing money by doing extra chores around the house. Even at 10, he knew that was a good deal for everyone. He was a hard worker, and conscientious. His parents could do worse. Clark could do the chores of several farm hands, or the other children Martha and Jonathan never had. He didn't really mind. There was something oddly enjoyable about pushing himself to work harder, get more done. It made him feel less guilty about taking breaks like this one.
His parents indulged him, gave him more freedom than most seventeen-year-old boys got; he'd proven himself trustworthy. They let him use the barn loft as his own personal space, even helped him wall up a section of it as a darkroom. It didn't hurt that he'd already earned enough from his photography to pay for his first couple years of college.
He wasn't sure where he wanted to go yet. Probably Metropolis University. It had an excellent photojournalism department, and he could come home often to help with the farm. He would take some business classes to keep his father happy, but he knew what he wanted to do with his life; publicly at least.
He had been thirteen when he sold his first picture to a national magazine. A portrait of an elderly acquaintance of his mother's from her volunteer work at the Alzheimer's Home, autofocus caught her silver hair and lined face; her grace and wisdom perfectly exposed. The paper dolls in her hand showed the innocence she was returning to as she aged.
Clark hadn't wanted the publication to know he was a teenager, so he made up a fake name, and fudged a little on his history. Chloe had helped. This was how K.L Kent began his career.
By the time he was seventeen, he had built a reputation as a fine photographer. Equally sought out for his posed portraits and candids, he made the ordinary people he shot seem like stars, and captured the approachable tendencies of the well known.
He liked the candids better. There was something about discovering the humanity of people in all walks of life that appealed to him. When he could, he tried to help his subjects. Sometimes he would contact local aid agencies so they would get the assistance they needed. Or he'd get them away from bad situations. His extra curricular work was done in secret, because his methods weren't something he wanted to have to explain. If people knew how and where he spent his free time, they would have been surprised.
***************
Lex Luthor took a desultory glance around his office at LuthorCorp, and sighed. Nothing in it interested him. He'd only been back to work there a week and already he was wishing he hadn't suggested joining forces with his father again. Surely that was a sign of his instability, rather than any of the shakiness or hallucinations he'd had since his sham of a wedding. He wished he could take back his offer. What bothered him even more was that he wasn't sure if Lionel had been happy to have his son apparently so willing to reconnect, or if he just wanted Lex close enough for his usual sick games. God knows he didn't want to play them again. He would give anything for a little honesty, and everything for some peace and quiet.
Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen for a while. First, he had to pose for some LuthorCorp publicity shots; Show the shareholders he was back to full health. Vim and vigor as his father would say. To Lex, they sounded like lawyer's names. Vim and Vigor, attorneys at law.
He was sure it was going to be a stultifying afternoon. Another stiff picture of a young mogul in training. Just once he wanted a photographer who could truly capture him in film. Not the corporate image, not the paparazzi enticing bad boy he'd been in his less than savory days, but the whole person he was now. Of course that was hardly the thing to put in the annual report, but frankly he didn't care. There was something about surviving what he had that summer that made him want a real portrait of his life at that time.
When his secretary notified him of the photographer's arrival, he was surprised. K.L Kent had come highly recommended. Lex did trust his father on matters of artistic merit. He'd expected Kent to be a lot older, or perhaps a woman, using the initials as a pseudonym.
Instead he found a young man in blue jeans and a black turtleneck. He looked anywhere between 16 and 25, with the kind of flawless features transformed by a small change of hair or clothing. Dark wavy hair that hung in his face until he brushed it away with a casual hand; wide greenish eyes that managed to convey both innocence and artistry; full red lips and white teeth only made more attractive by the imperfection of too long canines. He was gorgeous. By all rights he should have been on the other side of the camera lens, but the shyly professional way he looked at Lex told him he didn't know it. That was refreshing. Obviously posing for this portrait was no longer going to be a chore.
Fandom: Smallville (AU)
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Author: HYPERFocused
Rating: PG
Summary: Clark wants to shoot the truth, Lex doesn't want to pose any more. AU
Disclaimer: not my boys, not even the bad pictures with red eye.
Notes: written for the Contrelamontre four word challenge using all of the alloted 90 minutes. Also for Bookends: A Simon and Garfunkel Title Challenge Will likely be expanded and posted elsewhere soon.
When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school, it's a wonder I can think at all... -Paul Simon
The proverbial crisp fall day, and Clark Kent was walking home from school. Most days he took the short way home, cutting through fields and farms to get to his house, and help out with the chores. His short cut was faster than anyone else's. Of course no one else had the benefit of being a supremely strong alien with uncanny powers.
Today was different. Instead of speeding home, because really, why be in a hurry to get to hay baling and helping his dad vaccinate the cows, he decided to take a different route. Five minutes after classes let out - as soon as Pete helped him give Chloe the slip - he was walking through the slums of Edge City.
Often times he cursed his powers; would have gladly traded them in for a chance at normalcy. He should be happy. He could run faster than the cars at the Metropolis 500, see through walls, people, and when concentrated very hard, all the way into space. But the only time he was truly happy was when he had a camera in his hand, an eye at the lens. It was only through the viewfinder that he could share his true visions with the world.
He'd gotten his first camera when he was five. His language skills were still lagging slightly, but when he found the instamatic up in his parents' attic, he'd taken an appropriately instant liking to it.
He had a keen eye for photography, even at such a young age. By the time he was in third grade, Jonathan had fixed up his old 35 millimeter for Clark to use. Clark earned film and processing money by doing extra chores around the house. Even at 10, he knew that was a good deal for everyone. He was a hard worker, and conscientious. His parents could do worse. Clark could do the chores of several farm hands, or the other children Martha and Jonathan never had. He didn't really mind. There was something oddly enjoyable about pushing himself to work harder, get more done. It made him feel less guilty about taking breaks like this one.
His parents indulged him, gave him more freedom than most seventeen-year-old boys got; he'd proven himself trustworthy. They let him use the barn loft as his own personal space, even helped him wall up a section of it as a darkroom. It didn't hurt that he'd already earned enough from his photography to pay for his first couple years of college.
He wasn't sure where he wanted to go yet. Probably Metropolis University. It had an excellent photojournalism department, and he could come home often to help with the farm. He would take some business classes to keep his father happy, but he knew what he wanted to do with his life; publicly at least.
He had been thirteen when he sold his first picture to a national magazine. A portrait of an elderly acquaintance of his mother's from her volunteer work at the Alzheimer's Home, autofocus caught her silver hair and lined face; her grace and wisdom perfectly exposed. The paper dolls in her hand showed the innocence she was returning to as she aged.
Clark hadn't wanted the publication to know he was a teenager, so he made up a fake name, and fudged a little on his history. Chloe had helped. This was how K.L Kent began his career.
By the time he was seventeen, he had built a reputation as a fine photographer. Equally sought out for his posed portraits and candids, he made the ordinary people he shot seem like stars, and captured the approachable tendencies of the well known.
He liked the candids better. There was something about discovering the humanity of people in all walks of life that appealed to him. When he could, he tried to help his subjects. Sometimes he would contact local aid agencies so they would get the assistance they needed. Or he'd get them away from bad situations. His extra curricular work was done in secret, because his methods weren't something he wanted to have to explain. If people knew how and where he spent his free time, they would have been surprised.
***************
Lex Luthor took a desultory glance around his office at LuthorCorp, and sighed. Nothing in it interested him. He'd only been back to work there a week and already he was wishing he hadn't suggested joining forces with his father again. Surely that was a sign of his instability, rather than any of the shakiness or hallucinations he'd had since his sham of a wedding. He wished he could take back his offer. What bothered him even more was that he wasn't sure if Lionel had been happy to have his son apparently so willing to reconnect, or if he just wanted Lex close enough for his usual sick games. God knows he didn't want to play them again. He would give anything for a little honesty, and everything for some peace and quiet.
Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen for a while. First, he had to pose for some LuthorCorp publicity shots; Show the shareholders he was back to full health. Vim and vigor as his father would say. To Lex, they sounded like lawyer's names. Vim and Vigor, attorneys at law.
He was sure it was going to be a stultifying afternoon. Another stiff picture of a young mogul in training. Just once he wanted a photographer who could truly capture him in film. Not the corporate image, not the paparazzi enticing bad boy he'd been in his less than savory days, but the whole person he was now. Of course that was hardly the thing to put in the annual report, but frankly he didn't care. There was something about surviving what he had that summer that made him want a real portrait of his life at that time.
When his secretary notified him of the photographer's arrival, he was surprised. K.L Kent had come highly recommended. Lex did trust his father on matters of artistic merit. He'd expected Kent to be a lot older, or perhaps a woman, using the initials as a pseudonym.
Instead he found a young man in blue jeans and a black turtleneck. He looked anywhere between 16 and 25, with the kind of flawless features transformed by a small change of hair or clothing. Dark wavy hair that hung in his face until he brushed it away with a casual hand; wide greenish eyes that managed to convey both innocence and artistry; full red lips and white teeth only made more attractive by the imperfection of too long canines. He was gorgeous. By all rights he should have been on the other side of the camera lens, but the shyly professional way he looked at Lex told him he didn't know it. That was refreshing. Obviously posing for this portrait was no longer going to be a chore.