Share
Pairing: Clex
Genre: RWR/Futurefic, Humor
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 605
Summary: No one likes to share.
A/N: smart-ass commentfic aimed at sue_dreams.
"You'll just have to learn to share."
Lex didn't even raise his eyes from the newspaper as he spoke. That made it all the more infuriating. It was bad enough he was holding the paper open, that photo of him and some vapid socialite splashed across the front page. It was bad enough he could sit there, one leg crossed carelessly over the other, and read the paper at a time like this. But for Lex to be taking it so cavalierly - for him to make flip remarks like that, and not even look Clark in the eye?
That would be too much for anyone.
"Share?" he repeated. There was an edge to his voice, an almost I'm-going-to-set-your-expensive-leather-furniture-on-fire sort of tone.
He thought he saw the corner of Lex's mouth twitch; but the movement was gone before he could be sure.
"Yes," Lex answered, and flipped the page. "I gave you the chance to be the one on my arm last night. You passed. And I couldn't exactly show up to a function like that alone."
"Why not?" Clark huffed.
Lex finally let the paper fall. "I have an image to protect. I should think you'd understand that."
Clark folded his arms across his chest. The gesture, combined with the flickering light of the fire, made the cape in Lex's mind flutter with indignation. The thing was like a cat's tail - expressive, emotional. Normally it was proud; but it was capable of petulance, too. Like Clark.
"Look," he answered. "You know I hate those parties. They're ..."
"Stuffy? Pretentious? A crashing bore? I know; I was there. It would have been nice to have some interesting company."
"It looks like you had some," Clark snapped, picking up the paper and throwing it to the floor. It fell open to Page Six, from which Lex grinned up wickedly with a debutante on each arm and a lipstick mark on each cheek.
"Well," Lex answered, assuming a reasonable facsimile of the same evil smile, "I can't help the fact that women find me irresistible. And I repeat: I was stag. I was fair game."
Clark wasn’t laughing. "You're not taking me seriously."
“Neither are you,” Lex countered, sobering too. He stood and drew himself to his full height; if Clark was going to glower at him like that, he wasn’t going to take it sitting down. “Give me one good excuse, Clark. None of this ‘someone will recognize me’ or ‘I don’t own a tux.’ Give me one good reason why you can go out cavorting with Oliver - in spandex - but you can’t come with me to a party.”
For a moment, Clark said nothing. He didn’t even move; he became that still, statuesque Superman who stood over scenes of chaos with complete serenity. Then, just as suddenly, he was engulfing Lex like a storm.
Between kisses, he growled, “You’re jealous.”
Lex mumbled, “So are you.”
“I hate those pictures,” Clark confessed.
“I hate Oliver,” Lex admitted too.
“I can’t stop,” Clark said, cradling his face tenderly. “The League needs me. You know that.”
“Neither can I,” Lex countered, slipping one hand beneath Clark’s belt. “A significant citizen like myself has a certain … reputation. Social engagements. Tabloids to keep entertained.”
Clark’s eyes were drifting closed; he hated how Lex could do that, keep his mind in the game even when his hands were busy. “Lex …”
“Shh.” Lex pulled him down. “I have the perfect solution.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll buy you a tux. And you’ll ditch Oliver for me next weekend.”
Clark hissed between his teeth. “I think you need to learn to share.”
Genre: RWR/Futurefic, Humor
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 605
Summary: No one likes to share.
A/N: smart-ass commentfic aimed at sue_dreams.
"You'll just have to learn to share."
Lex didn't even raise his eyes from the newspaper as he spoke. That made it all the more infuriating. It was bad enough he was holding the paper open, that photo of him and some vapid socialite splashed across the front page. It was bad enough he could sit there, one leg crossed carelessly over the other, and read the paper at a time like this. But for Lex to be taking it so cavalierly - for him to make flip remarks like that, and not even look Clark in the eye?
That would be too much for anyone.
"Share?" he repeated. There was an edge to his voice, an almost I'm-going-to-set-your-expensive-leather-furniture-on-fire sort of tone.
He thought he saw the corner of Lex's mouth twitch; but the movement was gone before he could be sure.
"Yes," Lex answered, and flipped the page. "I gave you the chance to be the one on my arm last night. You passed. And I couldn't exactly show up to a function like that alone."
"Why not?" Clark huffed.
Lex finally let the paper fall. "I have an image to protect. I should think you'd understand that."
Clark folded his arms across his chest. The gesture, combined with the flickering light of the fire, made the cape in Lex's mind flutter with indignation. The thing was like a cat's tail - expressive, emotional. Normally it was proud; but it was capable of petulance, too. Like Clark.
"Look," he answered. "You know I hate those parties. They're ..."
"Stuffy? Pretentious? A crashing bore? I know; I was there. It would have been nice to have some interesting company."
"It looks like you had some," Clark snapped, picking up the paper and throwing it to the floor. It fell open to Page Six, from which Lex grinned up wickedly with a debutante on each arm and a lipstick mark on each cheek.
"Well," Lex answered, assuming a reasonable facsimile of the same evil smile, "I can't help the fact that women find me irresistible. And I repeat: I was stag. I was fair game."
Clark wasn’t laughing. "You're not taking me seriously."
“Neither are you,” Lex countered, sobering too. He stood and drew himself to his full height; if Clark was going to glower at him like that, he wasn’t going to take it sitting down. “Give me one good excuse, Clark. None of this ‘someone will recognize me’ or ‘I don’t own a tux.’ Give me one good reason why you can go out cavorting with Oliver - in spandex - but you can’t come with me to a party.”
For a moment, Clark said nothing. He didn’t even move; he became that still, statuesque Superman who stood over scenes of chaos with complete serenity. Then, just as suddenly, he was engulfing Lex like a storm.
Between kisses, he growled, “You’re jealous.”
Lex mumbled, “So are you.”
“I hate those pictures,” Clark confessed.
“I hate Oliver,” Lex admitted too.
“I can’t stop,” Clark said, cradling his face tenderly. “The League needs me. You know that.”
“Neither can I,” Lex countered, slipping one hand beneath Clark’s belt. “A significant citizen like myself has a certain … reputation. Social engagements. Tabloids to keep entertained.”
Clark’s eyes were drifting closed; he hated how Lex could do that, keep his mind in the game even when his hands were busy. “Lex …”
“Shh.” Lex pulled him down. “I have the perfect solution.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll buy you a tux. And you’ll ditch Oliver for me next weekend.”
Clark hissed between his teeth. “I think you need to learn to share.”