Fic: Parvus Triumphi - Clex, NC-17
Title: Parvus Triumphi
Author: nevcolleil
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clex
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Millar and Gough get all the rights.
Summary: Another comment_fic response. To this prompt.
If it ever felt over when it was over, Clark thinks that might have been something. He’d thought, the first time, he would get it out of his system. It was a strangeness. A sickness. He could purge it. His fascination with Lex was need. If he could escape the need he could escape Lex’s hold over him, easy as sealing up a mass of Kryptonite in an iron box to escape its effects.
But it never feels over. Just on pause. Almost as soon as Lex rolls off of him, Clark’s mind is assuming there will be a next time. A next mistake. A next surrender. Can he call it giving in when he looks forward to it happening?
“When is this going to stop?” Clark says. He didn’t mean to say it aloud.
Lex freezes. His back is to Clark; he’s in the middle of pulling a robe over his shoulders. He looks perfect; he’s absolutely perfect. His muscles don’t bulge like Clark’s do, but each is sharply defined. He’s sleek. Like the silk of his robe, but creamy fair instead of darkest black.
He can never answer a simple question with a simple answer. Maybe because, in Lex’s head, no question is ever simple. There are always layers of meaning. Clark’s head hurts when he tries to guess at what they are and how to uncover them, so he rarely tries. Maybe that’s the key to Lex’s power over him.
“When I win,” Lex says. And he pulls up his robe, belts it at the waist. He walks to the bathroom without looking back at Clark once.
Clark’s face burns. He knows Lex acts this way to get under his skin, but he lets it work every time anyway. A part of Clark is glad for the illusion Lex’s cold-shoulder routine provides. If Lex didn’t pretend not to care about Clark in moments like these, could Clark pretend not to want him to care?
Clark gets out of bed, too. He reaches for his uniform, a puddle of soot-tinged red and blue and discarded dignity - but, sitting on the edge of the mattress, Clark can’t help but chuckle. A short, low, not happy sound.
“When don’t you win?” he asks softly. He isn’t certain whether or not he wants Lex to hear him.
Lex is standing on the other side of the room. Dark suit pants; shiny black shoes. He’s still got his shirt off, though; he’s got it in one hand. Clark’s heart thuds, his dick jumps beneath the sheet he’s pulled over himself, at the sight of Lex’s smooth, pale chest.
Lex was fucking him not ten minutes ago.
Clark’s been kidding himself. He’s never escaping this.
They stare at one another.
“Sex is a battle,” Lex says. Clark doesn’t know what he’s quoting - only that the words are apt.
And that Lex could never stop at small victories. In any arena.
Lex breaks eye contact and begins to pull on his shirt. He’s at the door when he says, “Love is war.”
Clark’s heart trip-hammers, but Lex is already gone by the time he’s recovered enough breath to speak.
[end.]
Author: nevcolleil
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clex
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Millar and Gough get all the rights.
Summary: Another comment_fic response. To this prompt.
If it ever felt over when it was over, Clark thinks that might have been something. He’d thought, the first time, he would get it out of his system. It was a strangeness. A sickness. He could purge it. His fascination with Lex was need. If he could escape the need he could escape Lex’s hold over him, easy as sealing up a mass of Kryptonite in an iron box to escape its effects.
But it never feels over. Just on pause. Almost as soon as Lex rolls off of him, Clark’s mind is assuming there will be a next time. A next mistake. A next surrender. Can he call it giving in when he looks forward to it happening?
“When is this going to stop?” Clark says. He didn’t mean to say it aloud.
Lex freezes. His back is to Clark; he’s in the middle of pulling a robe over his shoulders. He looks perfect; he’s absolutely perfect. His muscles don’t bulge like Clark’s do, but each is sharply defined. He’s sleek. Like the silk of his robe, but creamy fair instead of darkest black.
He can never answer a simple question with a simple answer. Maybe because, in Lex’s head, no question is ever simple. There are always layers of meaning. Clark’s head hurts when he tries to guess at what they are and how to uncover them, so he rarely tries. Maybe that’s the key to Lex’s power over him.
“When I win,” Lex says. And he pulls up his robe, belts it at the waist. He walks to the bathroom without looking back at Clark once.
Clark’s face burns. He knows Lex acts this way to get under his skin, but he lets it work every time anyway. A part of Clark is glad for the illusion Lex’s cold-shoulder routine provides. If Lex didn’t pretend not to care about Clark in moments like these, could Clark pretend not to want him to care?
Clark gets out of bed, too. He reaches for his uniform, a puddle of soot-tinged red and blue and discarded dignity - but, sitting on the edge of the mattress, Clark can’t help but chuckle. A short, low, not happy sound.
“When don’t you win?” he asks softly. He isn’t certain whether or not he wants Lex to hear him.
Lex is standing on the other side of the room. Dark suit pants; shiny black shoes. He’s still got his shirt off, though; he’s got it in one hand. Clark’s heart thuds, his dick jumps beneath the sheet he’s pulled over himself, at the sight of Lex’s smooth, pale chest.
Lex was fucking him not ten minutes ago.
Clark’s been kidding himself. He’s never escaping this.
They stare at one another.
“Sex is a battle,” Lex says. Clark doesn’t know what he’s quoting - only that the words are apt.
And that Lex could never stop at small victories. In any arena.
Lex breaks eye contact and begins to pull on his shirt. He’s at the door when he says, “Love is war.”
Clark’s heart trip-hammers, but Lex is already gone by the time he’s recovered enough breath to speak.
[end.]