Fanfic: “Conflicts of Interest" & "Visiting Hours" by Rageprufrock. [SV: Clark/Lex, kidfic] . [N8,5]
Sv . "I just don't want them to wreck this, make it hard," Terry said, and it was probably at least in part truth, but Conner could smell a lie, he'd heard them all his life.
In a strange and foreign way, Conner worried that he was doing the only thing Geoffrey had ever asked him not to do, but then it seemed that breaking Geoffrey's heart felt a lot like fixing Conner's own.
Lois sometimes talked about legitimate stuff, and she had said once that love never fixed all the cracks in a relationship. It wasn't that people stopped loving one another, necessarily, mostly it was just that they couldn't be together anymore.
"Other things come up, Conner," Lois had said, almost solemnly, though she'd always seemed to take her personal tragedies in detached stride, with a gallows humor so vicious sometimes that Conner wondered if feeling everything she was hiding from could possibly hurt as much as the jokes she was making at her own expense. Conner remembered the day her father had died, the day she'd been mugged, the time some bitch named Anthony had left her for good.
"You won't get it the first time, and probably not the second time, but you're never going to meet anybody you love more than yourself," Lois had told him, and her dark eyes were feverish and heavy with lashes and she'd been so shockingly beautiful and earthy that Conner forgot her point all over again. "When you decide to stay, you have to stay for yourself, nobody's good enough to live for only somebody else."
It was a concept that Conner didn't quite understand, and even with the image of Lois' dark eyes burning into his own, Conner realized he only had to look to the driver's seat to see Terry humming along to the music on the radio, his hair flying in the cold February breeze and his sideways smile when he caught Conner's eyes on him to forget she'd ever said it.
Conner was sixteen and stupid and maybe a little in love, and the sky was limitless.
Sv . And then the house was dim and sweetly quiet, with Metropolis a million miles beneath their feet, the city lights glittering outside of the wide glass windows and Geoffrey close and familiar--and just like before, the boy who knew everything about Conner and forgave him for all of it.
Geoffrey was putting the last cups into the dishwasher and wiping his hands on his jeans, sliding his palms against the seams and Conner thought with a sudden shock of sadness how tragic and bad it was that Geoffrey wasn't his anymore. That, after all these years between them, they'd reached a fork in the road and they'd taken somebody else's hand to navigate the path.
Conner thought that he'd never get over the fact that he knew the way Geoffrey dried his hands on his pants--the exact way he slid his fingers over denim--and not be with him. It seemed wrong and unnatural, different than the way Conner had always planned it, but everything had turned out differently than expected, Conner thought bitterly.
And then Geoffrey was looking around the kitchen, like he was taking in the sights one last night before he left, and it made something in Conner's throat tight and something in his chest hurt.
"Hey, long time no see," Geoffrey finally said, his voice soft and quiet, breaking the stillness.
When Conner smiled in answer, he saw Geoffrey's eyes and they were blue, like Conner had always known they were blue and that hurt, too, for no good reason at all.
"Hey," he said hoarsely. "And--yeah. Something like that."
Then Geoffrey ran a hand over the countertop, smiling privately down at the surface, and glanced up, lashes throwing deep, dark shadows on his face in the vaguely orange light of the room--shadowed by sienna and brown against the walls and hallways, the single light over the sink struggling against the overwhelming night in the room.
"Are you okay?" Conner asked, because he genuinely wanted to know.
Geoffrey laughed, and shook his head, said, "Yeah--look, sorry I've been--" he waved his hand in the air, long, pale fingers blurring in the dark "--weird about this. It was a surprise."
"I'm sorry I didn't say anything," Conner murmured, looking at his feet.
"It's fine," Geoffrey said, in a way that let Conner know exactly how much that peace had cost.
Conner fisted his hands in the hem of his shirt, and felt small and like a shit and didn't know what to do for probably the millionth time since the beginning of the year and was so tired he just wanted to go to sleep, to wake up in the morning and feel Geoffrey's breath on his neck--for it to be the before before the after. Because it'd been easier then, easier and safe and comfortable and there was no risk.
"It's late," Geoffrey finally said, and it sounded like the words were pulled out of him despite the smooth tones, the flawless timbre. "Wanna walk me to the door?"
Conner blinked, and opened his mouth twice before he could say, "You're such a girl, Archer," and took a step toward the foyer, felt his feet cold against the floor, heard Geoffrey's sneakers pad across the wood, so familiar with the walk he could do it in the dark, by sense alone.
"Whatever, Luthor," Geoffrey said, with a ghost of a smile around the corners of his mouth as they stood in front of the elevator, Geoffrey's hand smoothing the metal above the button. "I think we both know who's the princess between the two of us."
Conner flushed. "Fuck off," he muttered.
Geoffrey only grinned, small and sweet and reached out one arm, hand hanging midair for a moment before he stroked his knuckles over Conner's check--in a move both shockingly new and intimately familiar and old like a heartbeat Conner had memorized.
"Geoffrey--" Conner started.
"I just never thought it'd happen this way," Geoffrey admitted, interrupting him, and that smile was still on his face. It was incandescently sad and Conner didn't understand, and it was making something in his chest sink. He thought he'd already done this, in the restaurant bathroom, been as sad as he knew how to be over Geoffrey but maybe he'd been wrong, because he could hear something in the space between them that sounded like an apology for something neither of them had known was wrong.
"Geo--"
And then just like it had never happened before, Geoffrey was smiling against his mouth--lips soft and sweet and tasting like orange juice against Conner's own. But what Conner almost felt more was Geoffrey's hand, still very gentle on his cheek, and the other on Conner's hip, soft and possessive, like this, at least, was his, and Conner wanted Geoffrey to have it, wanted to give him everything, and in a desperate, furious panic he knotted one hand in Geoffrey's hair and licked his way into Geoffrey's mouth.
Geoffrey kissed like he painted, smooth and skilled and with a surprising recklessness, biting at Conner's mouth and running his tongue over Conner's teeth and Conner wanted it so much and so badly and had been gone so long--he scraped his teeth over Geoffrey's lower lip, sucked at the bow of his upper lip, wrapped his other hand around Geoffrey's bicep, tight enough--Conner hoped--to leave bruises. So they'd remember. So they'd remember something--so they'd remember this.
And then they needed to breathe and Conner tried to put it off as long as possible because this wouldn't end the way it always had with them, but Geoffrey--
Geoffrey was kissing his lower lip now, sweet and closed-mouthed, and then the corners of Conner's mouth, so gently it made Conner feel naked.
"Okay," Geoffrey gasped, forehead pressed against Conner's, and his eyes were closed as they panted at one another, too close for friends and now too far apart. "Okay," Geoffrey said again, and this time he looked up and looked at Conner, his mouth all swollen and red and bitten and wearing all of Conner's bruises and said:
"I just never thought that--" and he took a step back, knees shaky like Conner was feeling and stared at the space just over Conner's left shoulder, hands fumbling with the elevator button before finally managing to light it up "--never thought that if I kissed you it would go like this."
And then the elevator door opened and Geoffrey smiled at Conner again like it was all forgiven, like he'd finished this chapter of his book and that was fine because there were dozens more to go and said, "Okay--goodnight," and left, disappearing behind the elevator doors as Conner felt his knees give out and he slid to the floor, watching light arc off of the metal.
Conner spent the night in the observatory. By sunrise he couldn't feel his face and his hands or his legs or his chest but he couldn't feel Geoffrey's mouth on his either--and that had been kind of the point.
When Mrs. Banner found him out there, she helped him up and wrapped him in a blanket, poured him into bed and bought him tea and brushed his hair out of his face and said, "I know, baby. I know."
In a strange and foreign way, Conner worried that he was doing the only thing Geoffrey had ever asked him not to do, but then it seemed that breaking Geoffrey's heart felt a lot like fixing Conner's own.
Lois sometimes talked about legitimate stuff, and she had said once that love never fixed all the cracks in a relationship. It wasn't that people stopped loving one another, necessarily, mostly it was just that they couldn't be together anymore.
"Other things come up, Conner," Lois had said, almost solemnly, though she'd always seemed to take her personal tragedies in detached stride, with a gallows humor so vicious sometimes that Conner wondered if feeling everything she was hiding from could possibly hurt as much as the jokes she was making at her own expense. Conner remembered the day her father had died, the day she'd been mugged, the time some bitch named Anthony had left her for good.
"You won't get it the first time, and probably not the second time, but you're never going to meet anybody you love more than yourself," Lois had told him, and her dark eyes were feverish and heavy with lashes and she'd been so shockingly beautiful and earthy that Conner forgot her point all over again. "When you decide to stay, you have to stay for yourself, nobody's good enough to live for only somebody else."
It was a concept that Conner didn't quite understand, and even with the image of Lois' dark eyes burning into his own, Conner realized he only had to look to the driver's seat to see Terry humming along to the music on the radio, his hair flying in the cold February breeze and his sideways smile when he caught Conner's eyes on him to forget she'd ever said it.
Conner was sixteen and stupid and maybe a little in love, and the sky was limitless.
Sv . And then the house was dim and sweetly quiet, with Metropolis a million miles beneath their feet, the city lights glittering outside of the wide glass windows and Geoffrey close and familiar--and just like before, the boy who knew everything about Conner and forgave him for all of it.
Geoffrey was putting the last cups into the dishwasher and wiping his hands on his jeans, sliding his palms against the seams and Conner thought with a sudden shock of sadness how tragic and bad it was that Geoffrey wasn't his anymore. That, after all these years between them, they'd reached a fork in the road and they'd taken somebody else's hand to navigate the path.
Conner thought that he'd never get over the fact that he knew the way Geoffrey dried his hands on his pants--the exact way he slid his fingers over denim--and not be with him. It seemed wrong and unnatural, different than the way Conner had always planned it, but everything had turned out differently than expected, Conner thought bitterly.
And then Geoffrey was looking around the kitchen, like he was taking in the sights one last night before he left, and it made something in Conner's throat tight and something in his chest hurt.
"Hey, long time no see," Geoffrey finally said, his voice soft and quiet, breaking the stillness.
When Conner smiled in answer, he saw Geoffrey's eyes and they were blue, like Conner had always known they were blue and that hurt, too, for no good reason at all.
"Hey," he said hoarsely. "And--yeah. Something like that."
Then Geoffrey ran a hand over the countertop, smiling privately down at the surface, and glanced up, lashes throwing deep, dark shadows on his face in the vaguely orange light of the room--shadowed by sienna and brown against the walls and hallways, the single light over the sink struggling against the overwhelming night in the room.
"Are you okay?" Conner asked, because he genuinely wanted to know.
Geoffrey laughed, and shook his head, said, "Yeah--look, sorry I've been--" he waved his hand in the air, long, pale fingers blurring in the dark "--weird about this. It was a surprise."
"I'm sorry I didn't say anything," Conner murmured, looking at his feet.
"It's fine," Geoffrey said, in a way that let Conner know exactly how much that peace had cost.
Conner fisted his hands in the hem of his shirt, and felt small and like a shit and didn't know what to do for probably the millionth time since the beginning of the year and was so tired he just wanted to go to sleep, to wake up in the morning and feel Geoffrey's breath on his neck--for it to be the before before the after. Because it'd been easier then, easier and safe and comfortable and there was no risk.
"It's late," Geoffrey finally said, and it sounded like the words were pulled out of him despite the smooth tones, the flawless timbre. "Wanna walk me to the door?"
Conner blinked, and opened his mouth twice before he could say, "You're such a girl, Archer," and took a step toward the foyer, felt his feet cold against the floor, heard Geoffrey's sneakers pad across the wood, so familiar with the walk he could do it in the dark, by sense alone.
"Whatever, Luthor," Geoffrey said, with a ghost of a smile around the corners of his mouth as they stood in front of the elevator, Geoffrey's hand smoothing the metal above the button. "I think we both know who's the princess between the two of us."
Conner flushed. "Fuck off," he muttered.
Geoffrey only grinned, small and sweet and reached out one arm, hand hanging midair for a moment before he stroked his knuckles over Conner's check--in a move both shockingly new and intimately familiar and old like a heartbeat Conner had memorized.
"Geoffrey--" Conner started.
"I just never thought it'd happen this way," Geoffrey admitted, interrupting him, and that smile was still on his face. It was incandescently sad and Conner didn't understand, and it was making something in his chest sink. He thought he'd already done this, in the restaurant bathroom, been as sad as he knew how to be over Geoffrey but maybe he'd been wrong, because he could hear something in the space between them that sounded like an apology for something neither of them had known was wrong.
"Geo--"
And then just like it had never happened before, Geoffrey was smiling against his mouth--lips soft and sweet and tasting like orange juice against Conner's own. But what Conner almost felt more was Geoffrey's hand, still very gentle on his cheek, and the other on Conner's hip, soft and possessive, like this, at least, was his, and Conner wanted Geoffrey to have it, wanted to give him everything, and in a desperate, furious panic he knotted one hand in Geoffrey's hair and licked his way into Geoffrey's mouth.
Geoffrey kissed like he painted, smooth and skilled and with a surprising recklessness, biting at Conner's mouth and running his tongue over Conner's teeth and Conner wanted it so much and so badly and had been gone so long--he scraped his teeth over Geoffrey's lower lip, sucked at the bow of his upper lip, wrapped his other hand around Geoffrey's bicep, tight enough--Conner hoped--to leave bruises. So they'd remember. So they'd remember something--so they'd remember this.
And then they needed to breathe and Conner tried to put it off as long as possible because this wouldn't end the way it always had with them, but Geoffrey--
Geoffrey was kissing his lower lip now, sweet and closed-mouthed, and then the corners of Conner's mouth, so gently it made Conner feel naked.
"Okay," Geoffrey gasped, forehead pressed against Conner's, and his eyes were closed as they panted at one another, too close for friends and now too far apart. "Okay," Geoffrey said again, and this time he looked up and looked at Conner, his mouth all swollen and red and bitten and wearing all of Conner's bruises and said:
"I just never thought that--" and he took a step back, knees shaky like Conner was feeling and stared at the space just over Conner's left shoulder, hands fumbling with the elevator button before finally managing to light it up "--never thought that if I kissed you it would go like this."
And then the elevator door opened and Geoffrey smiled at Conner again like it was all forgiven, like he'd finished this chapter of his book and that was fine because there were dozens more to go and said, "Okay--goodnight," and left, disappearing behind the elevator doors as Conner felt his knees give out and he slid to the floor, watching light arc off of the metal.
Conner spent the night in the observatory. By sunrise he couldn't feel his face and his hands or his legs or his chest but he couldn't feel Geoffrey's mouth on his either--and that had been kind of the point.
When Mrs. Banner found him out there, she helped him up and wrapped him in a blanket, poured him into bed and bought him tea and brushed his hair out of his face and said, "I know, baby. I know."