Fic: Master (complete)
Title: Master
Author: josephina_x
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clark, Lex
Rating: R (for content / mindcontrol)
Spoilers: through the end of season 7
Word count: 691
Summary: The Orb worked.
Warnings: Un-beta'd. Darkfic-ish. Mindcontrol.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not-for-profit.
Comments: Yes, please! :)
Author's Note: Yeahhhh, not too sure where this one came from. I was half-remembering another fic idea that I had forgotten to write down earlier, then this came to mind. I jotted it down in :30. Not sure if this will ever go anywhere else, but I wouldn't put it past it. *shrugs*
Also posted to AO3 here.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Clark told Chloe that he didn't want to be involved in the search for Lex, after the Fortress collapse, after they'd retrieved him from the concentration camp, after slavery, after dying, after getting his powers back. He wanted to stay as far away from Lex as possible.
He wasn't lying. Every time Clark heard Lex call him, he came. He didn't want to... but he did.
Actually, that wasn't exactly true -- he didn't want to want to.
He came anyway.
He wanted to stay far away from Lex, because he knew it was wrong, what he was doing. He shouldn't want to help Lex, after what he'd done, after what he'd done to him.
But, after what Clark had done to Lex...
Lex was hurting. Lex was hurt. Lex was suffering, and Clark could help.
Lex didn't need or want a pound of flesh from Clark. For him, blood was enough.
He'd reinstiated the RL65 project. He'd started on the treatments already, a first few low doses. He wanted to keep his sanity, 'what little he had left,' he'd said, with an unreadable smile.
Clark wanted Lex well again, wanted him whole.
And then he was.
Clark still never understood why no-one had ever thought to look under the mansion. Why had Lana and Oliver been chasing ghosts overseas, all over the globe? Weren't they supposed to be smart? Wasn't Chloe supposed to be able to tell the difference between a fake trail and a real one?
Lex had ordered Clark never to tell, so he hadn't.
No-one had ever asked Clark if he knew where Lex was. He'd never even had to lie.
Lex was well again, up on his feet, fully healed in body, if not in mind. He lay down false trails upon false trails, kept the League guessing, kept them running about, kept to himself under the mansion.
And then he did... nothing.
He kept to himself under the mansion.
At the end of every day, in the wee hours of the morning, he called for Clark, out on patrol -- because Clark had to do something to try and offset the darkness within. Clark felt trapped, tethered to Metropolis, tethered to Smallville, tethered to Lex. He could only roam so far -- Lex could call at any moment and snatch him back.
Clark's hearing improved. He could spiral outward in an ever growing circle... but always, always he came back.
To Lex.
Who called him.
And he came.
Lex didn't want much from him. Secrets. Lies. Truths. Falsehoods. He wanted it all. He didn't ask for much.
...He didn't ask for anything.
Clark wasn't told to strangle Chloe in her sleep. He wasn't told to burn Oliver alive like a flaming pyre, in tribute to a cause and a grudge years-long now-lost. ('Why would some petty grudge move Lex, now?') He wasn't told to break Lana's neck.
He was specifically told never to go near Lana again.
Not without orders to the contrary.
Lex had what he wanted. Clark was his.
'What else could he need?' Lex sometimes asked him.
Lex seemed content to stay in the basement of the Smallville mansion, whiling away his days doing Clark wasn't sure what -- (Clark had to work during the day, Clark needed to leave when he wasn't ordered to stay, he could do at least this much) -- and calling Clark back to him at night, as a falconer might his small airborne charge.
Lex had helped shape him, make him, teach him. Clark couldn't fly yet, but he would, someday. Lex would see to it, that it came to pass.
Clark almost didn't begrudge Lex the honor, the privilege, the burden, of directing him as he saw fit. Clark was his, after all, his creature, his alien, his at his beck and call like no other before or since. None else ever had; none else ever would.
There was a symmetry there, that Clark found almost pleasing, almost soothing. He was Lex's, and Lex would have him. Lex would keep him, and so Clark would be his. Always.
It was as it should be.
And Lex seemed content.
For now.
~*~*~*~*~*~
AN2: Next in the series ("Slave (to your Master be true)") is here on LJ and here on AO3.
Author: josephina_x
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clark, Lex
Rating: R (for content / mindcontrol)
Spoilers: through the end of season 7
Word count: 691
Summary: The Orb worked.
Warnings: Un-beta'd. Darkfic-ish. Mindcontrol.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not-for-profit.
Comments: Yes, please! :)
Author's Note: Yeahhhh, not too sure where this one came from. I was half-remembering another fic idea that I had forgotten to write down earlier, then this came to mind. I jotted it down in :30. Not sure if this will ever go anywhere else, but I wouldn't put it past it. *shrugs*
Also posted to AO3 here.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Clark told Chloe that he didn't want to be involved in the search for Lex, after the Fortress collapse, after they'd retrieved him from the concentration camp, after slavery, after dying, after getting his powers back. He wanted to stay as far away from Lex as possible.
He wasn't lying. Every time Clark heard Lex call him, he came. He didn't want to... but he did.
Actually, that wasn't exactly true -- he didn't want to want to.
He came anyway.
He wanted to stay far away from Lex, because he knew it was wrong, what he was doing. He shouldn't want to help Lex, after what he'd done, after what he'd done to him.
But, after what Clark had done to Lex...
Lex was hurting. Lex was hurt. Lex was suffering, and Clark could help.
Lex didn't need or want a pound of flesh from Clark. For him, blood was enough.
He'd reinstiated the RL65 project. He'd started on the treatments already, a first few low doses. He wanted to keep his sanity, 'what little he had left,' he'd said, with an unreadable smile.
Clark wanted Lex well again, wanted him whole.
And then he was.
Clark still never understood why no-one had ever thought to look under the mansion. Why had Lana and Oliver been chasing ghosts overseas, all over the globe? Weren't they supposed to be smart? Wasn't Chloe supposed to be able to tell the difference between a fake trail and a real one?
Lex had ordered Clark never to tell, so he hadn't.
No-one had ever asked Clark if he knew where Lex was. He'd never even had to lie.
Lex was well again, up on his feet, fully healed in body, if not in mind. He lay down false trails upon false trails, kept the League guessing, kept them running about, kept to himself under the mansion.
And then he did... nothing.
He kept to himself under the mansion.
At the end of every day, in the wee hours of the morning, he called for Clark, out on patrol -- because Clark had to do something to try and offset the darkness within. Clark felt trapped, tethered to Metropolis, tethered to Smallville, tethered to Lex. He could only roam so far -- Lex could call at any moment and snatch him back.
Clark's hearing improved. He could spiral outward in an ever growing circle... but always, always he came back.
To Lex.
Who called him.
And he came.
Lex didn't want much from him. Secrets. Lies. Truths. Falsehoods. He wanted it all. He didn't ask for much.
...He didn't ask for anything.
Clark wasn't told to strangle Chloe in her sleep. He wasn't told to burn Oliver alive like a flaming pyre, in tribute to a cause and a grudge years-long now-lost. ('Why would some petty grudge move Lex, now?') He wasn't told to break Lana's neck.
He was specifically told never to go near Lana again.
Not without orders to the contrary.
Lex had what he wanted. Clark was his.
'What else could he need?' Lex sometimes asked him.
Lex seemed content to stay in the basement of the Smallville mansion, whiling away his days doing Clark wasn't sure what -- (Clark had to work during the day, Clark needed to leave when he wasn't ordered to stay, he could do at least this much) -- and calling Clark back to him at night, as a falconer might his small airborne charge.
Lex had helped shape him, make him, teach him. Clark couldn't fly yet, but he would, someday. Lex would see to it, that it came to pass.
Clark almost didn't begrudge Lex the honor, the privilege, the burden, of directing him as he saw fit. Clark was his, after all, his creature, his alien, his at his beck and call like no other before or since. None else ever had; none else ever would.
There was a symmetry there, that Clark found almost pleasing, almost soothing. He was Lex's, and Lex would have him. Lex would keep him, and so Clark would be his. Always.
It was as it should be.
And Lex seemed content.
For now.
~*~*~*~*~*~
AN2: Next in the series ("Slave (to your Master be true)") is here on LJ and here on AO3.