Lost Souls - Thirteen
Is that the Hallelujah Chorus I hear playing in the background? XD
Shout-out to twinsarein, who once again proved she is the freaking nicest woman on the planet!!!
Disclaimer: ‘Smallville’ and certain characters belong to Miller-Gough et al. No profit is gained from this writing, only, hopefully, enjoyment.
Lex wasn't at the Luthorcorp building, so Clark sped right past it and down the large avenue to the Towers. At a quarter past nine, the foot traffic was still heavy and busy enough that he could slow down and stop behind a trash can and a small tree and not be noticed.
The city. It did have its perks sometimes.
Sixty-six floors up, Lex was standing by his huge wall of windows. Clark could see him.
There was a glass in his hand, which at this point in the day meant alcohol because Lex only ever drank about three things: water, coffee, or alcohol. A few times Clark had caught him with a protein or health shake thing of some kind. Once, it'd been hot tea in a mug because Lex said he liked the smell. He was weird like that, and every time he did something quirky or strange and didn't seem to know he was being quirky or strange. . . Clark just felt like smiling and loving him and laughing all at the same time.
Lex wasn't quirky when he drank alcohol, however.
Clark returned his attention to the street and the people walking briskly past him. Very briskly, like they needed to be someplace right that second and no one was going to stand in their way or make them wait.
He hurried over to the East tower's front entrance. Barry, the door guy, nodded at Clark and just waved him on over to the elevators.
"Having a good night?" Clark asked while he waited for the car to drop.
Barry shrugged. " 'S okay. Can't complain."
"How's college goin' for ya? You do okay on that test? The one you had in, uh, Expository Writing, was it?"
That got him a smile. In fact, that got him a grin as Barry even blushed a little.
"Aced it," he shared quietly, and Clark laughed in delight.
"Awesome, man!" He shook his head. "So, you write anything here? When you're on the job?" Barry just looked at him, but Clark was on a roll. He'd get another smile out of the guy. He was fully determined to turn this day around.
It had started out less than ideal, taken a nosedive into very uncomfortable, but then it'd picked up. For the last three hours or so, this had been a good day, a little bittersweet, but nothing Clark couldn't handle.
He was going to make it even better yet as soon as the elevator arrived. Barry could just reap the benefits of his new. . . optimistic outlook. Determined and go-getting, that was the New Clark Kent.
No more of this passive, depressive funk.
That wasn't-- that wasn't any way to. . . live. They would've been so upset with Clark about how he'd been acting, especially towards his teachers and friends. Maybe-- maybe Dad wouldn't have been as upset with Clark about how he and William. . . interacted, but he'd always placed a lot of importance on hard work and making every effort to do one's best. Clark hadn't been doing that. He hadn't. . . he hadn't been doing what they'd taught him.
He hadn't been making them. . . proud.
"What kind of stuff do you write?" Clark asked Barry. The light had just brightened above the number 33, then hit 32, 31, so he figured he had a minute or two before the elevator hit the lobby. "Fiction? Non-fiction?"
Barry shrugged. "Both. Mostly fiction, though."
"Science fiction?" Clark fished.
Barry's head popped back up and he met Clark's eyes, surprised. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I've written a few stories. Why?" he asked. "You a fan?" He smiled at Clark, and Clark smiled back.
"You could say that." He glanced towards the elevators -- 19th floor and descending. "Hey, listen, Barry. If you ever need, like, a second opinion or something. . . "
Barry chuckled and Clark stopped talking, just raised his eyebrows in question.
"You have the worst timing, man," Barry said, still chuckling, although Clark thought now that there wasn't much humor in the guy's laugh. "Oh, what I wouldn't give for you to've said that last week."
"Oh," Clark replied. "Uh, sorry?" He smiled a little nervously, but Barry just brushed it aside with a wave of his hand.
"No, no, don't apologize! Monday's the start of Finals Week," Barry explained, and Clark grimaced right along with him. High school final exams sucked. He didn't even want to think about how the college versions must be exponentially worse. "It's just. . . God, I could've used a fresh set of eyes when I was turning in all those freakin' papers!"
"I can hang around now, if you want," Clark offered. He stepped away from the bank of elevators and moved closer to the front desk Barry sat behind. "You know, if-- if you've still got something that you. . . really need some 16-year-old kid's opinion on." He finished with a grin, figuring any awkward rambling could be overcome by a heartfelt smile. Hopefully.
"Nah, man," Barry said, and thankfully he smiled right back at Clark. "I don't have anything with me, but-- but if you're serious. . . ?"
Clark nodded. "Yeah, yeah, totally. I used to write for my school paper." He grimaced, but Barry smiled politely. Clark had the feeling he wasn't helping his case any as an educated judge of writing, but. . . "I mean, I got the lame stories, but my best friend, now she knew how to write. So I kinda, uh, know what it should look like?" He made another face at how lame that sounded.
"It sounds great, Clark," Barry said. Clark looked up, and the guy seemed sincere. . . "I'll bring a few things in next time, uh, Thursday? I'm up here from 4:30 to 1:00 in the morning, so, you know, just drop by whenever. They're just scribblings, really, nothing, uh, polished or anything like that. Maybe you could, you know, just read and tell me what you think? Like, does it suck or is it incoherent or-- ?"
Clark laughed. "Yeah," he said, "I can do that. Thursday it is."
"Cool," Barry replied, smiling.
The elevator arrived not two seconds after, and Clark chuckled. He shared another manly nod-brief-smile-wave with Barry, and then went to the elevator car and walked inside.
So far so good. He was now three-and-oh on the Smiling Front. Chloe, Pete, Barry, none were immune to him today.
And Lex wouldn't be either.
***
"Hey," Clark said.
Lex just looked at him. It wasn't an unfriendly look, but it wasn't anything like what Clark was used to seeing, either.
Kinda . . . blank.
"You mind if I come in?" he asked pointedly.
Lex's eyes squinted a little, but he stepped back from the door. In fact, he left the doorway entirely, and it was Clark who shut it behind himself while Lex just went back to standing in front of the westward facing windows. The apartment was dim, only two lamps on in the entire place from what Clark could tell.
Great.
"You've been avoiding me," Clark said quietly.
Lex was facing away from him, but Clark could still make out his face in the window, even through the gloom. Lex just took another swallow from the glass in his hand. That was it. Not even a muscle twitch or shift in expression at all.
"So it's not just because you're busy," Clark stated. "You're actually out-and-out ignoring me. Well, that's just great, Lex. Real mature." He let his head drop forward, and wondered where all his resolve had disappeared to. He hated fighting, arguing, confrontation.
He didn't like this feeling either, though, like he was only good enough to hang around as long as no one knew about it. That's when all this had started, Lex making excuses as to why Clark couldn't come over, or why he was too busy, or blah blah blah. As soon as a photo of the two of them had popped up in the papers. . . pffft! So long Clark and Lex.
"This is stupid," Clark muttered.
"What is?" came Lex's voice.
Clark lifted his head to glare at the back of Lex's head. "You, for one thing," he snapped back. "You treating me like-- like I'm your boyfriend for months and then just dropping me at the first sign of trouble. You're stupid, Lex. And a bad friend."
Oddly enough, that's when Lex's blank-face cracked and he actually displayed some emotion. He looked amused.
Amused, like Clark had said something silly or childish or naïve, like he were insignificant enough in Lex's life that he didn't even get a proper break-up. Just, 'Hey, I'm really busy.'
"What?" Clark demanded. Shouted, actually, but Lex was an asshole and he deserved to be shouted at. "What's so funny? Is this just some joke to you? Stupid kid and his stupid crush?"
Lex shook his head and tilted his head back to finish off the drink. Then he turned around and leaned over to set down the empty glass.
Then, it was just Lex standing there, slumped and probably actually past buzzed and on his way to drunk, if the looseness of his body were any indication.
"Clark, where do you think this is going?"
"What do you mean?" he responded as coldly as he could, which probably wasn't all that cold.
"This. . . relationship," Lex clarified. Clark caught a slight turning up of Lex's lips, but it didn't seem like he were cheerful at all. Or amused, honestly. "Where do you think you and I are going, as a couple? Where do you see us in five years?"
"I've never thought about it," Clark replied honestly. Lex nodded his head like that was exactly what he'd been expecting to hear. He smiled that. . . bitter. . . smile again and Clark couldn't tell what he was feeling. In fact, he couldn't figure out what Lex was feeling any more than he knew what he himself was feeling. He was angry, and hurt, and embarrassed. He felt worried, and disappointed, and somehow. . .
Somehow, it occurred to Clark to wonder if this weren't some sort of test.
"Of course," Clark continued, Lex still looking at the floor, "I'm lucky these days to even get my homework done on time, let alone sit down and plan out the future." He waited, for almost a minute surely, hoping Lex would look up or just break the silence.
No such luck.
"I don't care about publicity," Clark finally threw out there. No reaction. "I don't care what other people say about me or what I do, either. Well," he amended, "maybe certain people, but not strangers, not people I've never met, and will never meet. If this is about those photographers taking pictures of us last week, then. . . " He took a deep breath. "Jesus Christ, Lex, who do you think I am?"
That got a reaction. Clark sucked in a quick breath as Lex's head snapped up. He finally met Clark's eyes, finally, actually, really looked him right in the eyes.
Clark didn't like what he saw there, but at least he was seeing it.
"Who do I think you are?" Lex parroted back. Clark nodded, shrugging and throwing his hands up. "Who do I think you are. Clark," he said on a laugh, "how the hell am I supposed to know who you are if you never tell me? Hmmm? Am I supposed to guess, and maybe you'll tell me one day when I get it right? Or is this one of those things we just don't talk about? Like, say. . . how you're still alive after being hit by a car going, if I can remember correctly, 76 miles per hour? Or," Lex continued, taking a step closer and then another, and then another, "perhaps this-- this asking me who I think you are -- perhaps this is just another brush-off or, uh, diversion." He chuckled again. Lex said all that, and then he chuckled and lifted his eyebrows like it was one big joke.
Like he was trying to say it was one big joke. Lex was drunk. Clark could tell that by the flatness of his eyes and the reek of the alcohol on his breath, by the way he moved very, very deliberately and carefully. Lex was drunk, and something was up and he was-- he was taking it out on Clark.
"Fuck you," Clark said quietly. Lex was close enough now, less than a foot away, that he had no problem hearing it. That was evident by the flinch and slight lean backwards.
"Excuse me?" Lex croaked out, probably going for offended and indignant, but now that Clark knew what he was dealing with, Lex's response just read as shocked and disbelieving. Yeah, definitely a test.
Drunk Lex was not Clark's favorite, not by a long shot. He'd seen several versions, several different sides of the man, and so far it was a tossup between Drunk Lex and Lex Luthor, Son of Lionel Luthor as to which he liked least.
He didn't hate either version, of course. They were just different aspects of Lex's personality, after all. He just wished Lex didn't feel the need to drink so much that he got drunk. He wished Lionel weren't Lex's father, truthfully. He wished Lionel weren't anyone's father.
"Fuck you, Lex," Clark repeated, although now instead of feeling really ticked off, he just. . . he just wanted Lex back. "You and your mind games. You know me, or-- or at least I thought you did." He sighed. "This is just. . . this is just stupid."
He sighed again, the second in less than a minute's time, and then said, "Fine. You don't want to talk? Fine. I'll come back tomorrow, bright and early when you're still all hungover, and I'll knock on that door until you answer. And then-- then, I'll sit here and I'll wait. . . until you grow the fuck up and stop treating me like some moron who doesn't know what the real world's like." This time it was Clark who moved closer. He took one step in, and that put him close. Then he took another, deliberately holding Lex's eyes as he did, and that. . . that put them about an inch away from touching.
"I'm not stupid," Clark said to him quietly. Lex ducked his head, and Clark very nearly reached up to grab his chin and make him look back, but. . . "And neither are you. I know-- " He took the deep breath before the plunge. "I know you have questions and things you need to hear and-- but I can't-- I can't tell you now, Lex. I'm sorry. I am. I'm really fucking sorry, but I just. . . can't tell you."
He trailed off pathetically and wished he'd rethought the whole plan of attack tonight, waited until tomorrow, or the day after or the one after that. His luck had run out. Maybe he'd used it all up already on Chloe and Pete and Barry. Maybe making four people smile in one day was just. . . impossible for Clark.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he finally whispered to Lex's head. He wanted to reach out and kiss him, but figured that sort of thing wasn't allowed when you were fighting. Kinda. Clark made to turn around, and just as he took a step back and started to face his left--
Lex reached out and grabbed his arm.
***
Clark said he was sorry two more times before Lex actually told him to shut up. Was it wrong to have sex with someone who was drunk? Even if he'd had sex with him before?
Lex ran his nails down Clark's right leg at one point. Hard. Clark didn't flinch, and Lex didn't say anything, so he figured this was their stalemate. He couldn't tell Lex what Lex needed to know. Not now. Not when things were just. . . getting better.
It was the first time Lex didn't ask him if he were all right every minute or two. It was the first time Clark didn't resort to gripping his own hair or holding his hands tight across his chest.
Lex never said one word about the ripped sheets, or the three very distinct and thoroughly embarrassing finger-sized holes punched into the mattress on Clark's side. He didn't raise his eyebrows or sneer or stalk off or any of the many things Clark feared and expected he would do.
No, that night, Lex was drunk and he started out mean, verbally, but he wasn't mean with his body. He never showed even the slightest bit of resentment or anger once he'd dragged Clark into the bedroom and pushed him down on his back.
That was how he knew it'd been a test. Lex lied. He was good at it, at least Clark had always thought so. Now, though-- now, he knew one of the signals. Now, he knew what to look for.
Lex lied. He could do it with his facial expressions and his voice, even his eyes, but he couldn't lie with his body. Lex wasn't angry at Clark, or at least he wasn't by the time the two fingers of his left hand were working inside Clark's ass and his tongue was slicking across the roof of Clark's mouth. Lex's fingers were deliberate, but they weren't abrupt or too forceful. The way he pushed and tugged and positioned Clark was somewhat aggressive, but it wasn't cold. It wasn't detached or scornful or Lex getting off on some kind of power trip.
Lex never said sorry with his mouth, at least not verbally. His body said it, though. His hands when they ran up and down and molded around Clark's thighs said it. His lips when he kissed the back of Clark's neck said it.
Even his eyes, when he looked at Clark afterward, and the way his breath hitched ever so slightly, barely noticeable -- unless you were an alien -- even then, Lex said 'I'm sorry.' And when he pursed his lips and closed his eyes and turned his head away, and yet his fingers gripped Clark's hair tighter and his legs, Lex's strong, perfect legs, moved and shifted around just a bit, just enough that almost every inch of them touched Clark's legs, well. . .
Well, that's when Lex was really saying something more than 'I'm sorry.'
Lost Souls - Fourteen
Shout-out to twinsarein, who once again proved she is the freaking nicest woman on the planet!!!
Disclaimer: ‘Smallville’ and certain characters belong to Miller-Gough et al. No profit is gained from this writing, only, hopefully, enjoyment.
Lex wasn't at the Luthorcorp building, so Clark sped right past it and down the large avenue to the Towers. At a quarter past nine, the foot traffic was still heavy and busy enough that he could slow down and stop behind a trash can and a small tree and not be noticed.
The city. It did have its perks sometimes.
Sixty-six floors up, Lex was standing by his huge wall of windows. Clark could see him.
There was a glass in his hand, which at this point in the day meant alcohol because Lex only ever drank about three things: water, coffee, or alcohol. A few times Clark had caught him with a protein or health shake thing of some kind. Once, it'd been hot tea in a mug because Lex said he liked the smell. He was weird like that, and every time he did something quirky or strange and didn't seem to know he was being quirky or strange. . . Clark just felt like smiling and loving him and laughing all at the same time.
Lex wasn't quirky when he drank alcohol, however.
Clark returned his attention to the street and the people walking briskly past him. Very briskly, like they needed to be someplace right that second and no one was going to stand in their way or make them wait.
He hurried over to the East tower's front entrance. Barry, the door guy, nodded at Clark and just waved him on over to the elevators.
"Having a good night?" Clark asked while he waited for the car to drop.
Barry shrugged. " 'S okay. Can't complain."
"How's college goin' for ya? You do okay on that test? The one you had in, uh, Expository Writing, was it?"
That got him a smile. In fact, that got him a grin as Barry even blushed a little.
"Aced it," he shared quietly, and Clark laughed in delight.
"Awesome, man!" He shook his head. "So, you write anything here? When you're on the job?" Barry just looked at him, but Clark was on a roll. He'd get another smile out of the guy. He was fully determined to turn this day around.
It had started out less than ideal, taken a nosedive into very uncomfortable, but then it'd picked up. For the last three hours or so, this had been a good day, a little bittersweet, but nothing Clark couldn't handle.
He was going to make it even better yet as soon as the elevator arrived. Barry could just reap the benefits of his new. . . optimistic outlook. Determined and go-getting, that was the New Clark Kent.
No more of this passive, depressive funk.
That wasn't-- that wasn't any way to. . . live. They would've been so upset with Clark about how he'd been acting, especially towards his teachers and friends. Maybe-- maybe Dad wouldn't have been as upset with Clark about how he and William. . . interacted, but he'd always placed a lot of importance on hard work and making every effort to do one's best. Clark hadn't been doing that. He hadn't. . . he hadn't been doing what they'd taught him.
He hadn't been making them. . . proud.
"What kind of stuff do you write?" Clark asked Barry. The light had just brightened above the number 33, then hit 32, 31, so he figured he had a minute or two before the elevator hit the lobby. "Fiction? Non-fiction?"
Barry shrugged. "Both. Mostly fiction, though."
"Science fiction?" Clark fished.
Barry's head popped back up and he met Clark's eyes, surprised. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I've written a few stories. Why?" he asked. "You a fan?" He smiled at Clark, and Clark smiled back.
"You could say that." He glanced towards the elevators -- 19th floor and descending. "Hey, listen, Barry. If you ever need, like, a second opinion or something. . . "
Barry chuckled and Clark stopped talking, just raised his eyebrows in question.
"You have the worst timing, man," Barry said, still chuckling, although Clark thought now that there wasn't much humor in the guy's laugh. "Oh, what I wouldn't give for you to've said that last week."
"Oh," Clark replied. "Uh, sorry?" He smiled a little nervously, but Barry just brushed it aside with a wave of his hand.
"No, no, don't apologize! Monday's the start of Finals Week," Barry explained, and Clark grimaced right along with him. High school final exams sucked. He didn't even want to think about how the college versions must be exponentially worse. "It's just. . . God, I could've used a fresh set of eyes when I was turning in all those freakin' papers!"
"I can hang around now, if you want," Clark offered. He stepped away from the bank of elevators and moved closer to the front desk Barry sat behind. "You know, if-- if you've still got something that you. . . really need some 16-year-old kid's opinion on." He finished with a grin, figuring any awkward rambling could be overcome by a heartfelt smile. Hopefully.
"Nah, man," Barry said, and thankfully he smiled right back at Clark. "I don't have anything with me, but-- but if you're serious. . . ?"
Clark nodded. "Yeah, yeah, totally. I used to write for my school paper." He grimaced, but Barry smiled politely. Clark had the feeling he wasn't helping his case any as an educated judge of writing, but. . . "I mean, I got the lame stories, but my best friend, now she knew how to write. So I kinda, uh, know what it should look like?" He made another face at how lame that sounded.
"It sounds great, Clark," Barry said. Clark looked up, and the guy seemed sincere. . . "I'll bring a few things in next time, uh, Thursday? I'm up here from 4:30 to 1:00 in the morning, so, you know, just drop by whenever. They're just scribblings, really, nothing, uh, polished or anything like that. Maybe you could, you know, just read and tell me what you think? Like, does it suck or is it incoherent or-- ?"
Clark laughed. "Yeah," he said, "I can do that. Thursday it is."
"Cool," Barry replied, smiling.
The elevator arrived not two seconds after, and Clark chuckled. He shared another manly nod-brief-smile-wave with Barry, and then went to the elevator car and walked inside.
So far so good. He was now three-and-oh on the Smiling Front. Chloe, Pete, Barry, none were immune to him today.
And Lex wouldn't be either.
***
"Hey," Clark said.
Lex just looked at him. It wasn't an unfriendly look, but it wasn't anything like what Clark was used to seeing, either.
Kinda . . . blank.
"You mind if I come in?" he asked pointedly.
Lex's eyes squinted a little, but he stepped back from the door. In fact, he left the doorway entirely, and it was Clark who shut it behind himself while Lex just went back to standing in front of the westward facing windows. The apartment was dim, only two lamps on in the entire place from what Clark could tell.
Great.
"You've been avoiding me," Clark said quietly.
Lex was facing away from him, but Clark could still make out his face in the window, even through the gloom. Lex just took another swallow from the glass in his hand. That was it. Not even a muscle twitch or shift in expression at all.
"So it's not just because you're busy," Clark stated. "You're actually out-and-out ignoring me. Well, that's just great, Lex. Real mature." He let his head drop forward, and wondered where all his resolve had disappeared to. He hated fighting, arguing, confrontation.
He didn't like this feeling either, though, like he was only good enough to hang around as long as no one knew about it. That's when all this had started, Lex making excuses as to why Clark couldn't come over, or why he was too busy, or blah blah blah. As soon as a photo of the two of them had popped up in the papers. . . pffft! So long Clark and Lex.
"This is stupid," Clark muttered.
"What is?" came Lex's voice.
Clark lifted his head to glare at the back of Lex's head. "You, for one thing," he snapped back. "You treating me like-- like I'm your boyfriend for months and then just dropping me at the first sign of trouble. You're stupid, Lex. And a bad friend."
Oddly enough, that's when Lex's blank-face cracked and he actually displayed some emotion. He looked amused.
Amused, like Clark had said something silly or childish or naïve, like he were insignificant enough in Lex's life that he didn't even get a proper break-up. Just, 'Hey, I'm really busy.'
"What?" Clark demanded. Shouted, actually, but Lex was an asshole and he deserved to be shouted at. "What's so funny? Is this just some joke to you? Stupid kid and his stupid crush?"
Lex shook his head and tilted his head back to finish off the drink. Then he turned around and leaned over to set down the empty glass.
Then, it was just Lex standing there, slumped and probably actually past buzzed and on his way to drunk, if the looseness of his body were any indication.
"Clark, where do you think this is going?"
"What do you mean?" he responded as coldly as he could, which probably wasn't all that cold.
"This. . . relationship," Lex clarified. Clark caught a slight turning up of Lex's lips, but it didn't seem like he were cheerful at all. Or amused, honestly. "Where do you think you and I are going, as a couple? Where do you see us in five years?"
"I've never thought about it," Clark replied honestly. Lex nodded his head like that was exactly what he'd been expecting to hear. He smiled that. . . bitter. . . smile again and Clark couldn't tell what he was feeling. In fact, he couldn't figure out what Lex was feeling any more than he knew what he himself was feeling. He was angry, and hurt, and embarrassed. He felt worried, and disappointed, and somehow. . .
Somehow, it occurred to Clark to wonder if this weren't some sort of test.
"Of course," Clark continued, Lex still looking at the floor, "I'm lucky these days to even get my homework done on time, let alone sit down and plan out the future." He waited, for almost a minute surely, hoping Lex would look up or just break the silence.
No such luck.
"I don't care about publicity," Clark finally threw out there. No reaction. "I don't care what other people say about me or what I do, either. Well," he amended, "maybe certain people, but not strangers, not people I've never met, and will never meet. If this is about those photographers taking pictures of us last week, then. . . " He took a deep breath. "Jesus Christ, Lex, who do you think I am?"
That got a reaction. Clark sucked in a quick breath as Lex's head snapped up. He finally met Clark's eyes, finally, actually, really looked him right in the eyes.
Clark didn't like what he saw there, but at least he was seeing it.
"Who do I think you are?" Lex parroted back. Clark nodded, shrugging and throwing his hands up. "Who do I think you are. Clark," he said on a laugh, "how the hell am I supposed to know who you are if you never tell me? Hmmm? Am I supposed to guess, and maybe you'll tell me one day when I get it right? Or is this one of those things we just don't talk about? Like, say. . . how you're still alive after being hit by a car going, if I can remember correctly, 76 miles per hour? Or," Lex continued, taking a step closer and then another, and then another, "perhaps this-- this asking me who I think you are -- perhaps this is just another brush-off or, uh, diversion." He chuckled again. Lex said all that, and then he chuckled and lifted his eyebrows like it was one big joke.
Like he was trying to say it was one big joke. Lex was drunk. Clark could tell that by the flatness of his eyes and the reek of the alcohol on his breath, by the way he moved very, very deliberately and carefully. Lex was drunk, and something was up and he was-- he was taking it out on Clark.
"Fuck you," Clark said quietly. Lex was close enough now, less than a foot away, that he had no problem hearing it. That was evident by the flinch and slight lean backwards.
"Excuse me?" Lex croaked out, probably going for offended and indignant, but now that Clark knew what he was dealing with, Lex's response just read as shocked and disbelieving. Yeah, definitely a test.
Drunk Lex was not Clark's favorite, not by a long shot. He'd seen several versions, several different sides of the man, and so far it was a tossup between Drunk Lex and Lex Luthor, Son of Lionel Luthor as to which he liked least.
He didn't hate either version, of course. They were just different aspects of Lex's personality, after all. He just wished Lex didn't feel the need to drink so much that he got drunk. He wished Lionel weren't Lex's father, truthfully. He wished Lionel weren't anyone's father.
"Fuck you, Lex," Clark repeated, although now instead of feeling really ticked off, he just. . . he just wanted Lex back. "You and your mind games. You know me, or-- or at least I thought you did." He sighed. "This is just. . . this is just stupid."
He sighed again, the second in less than a minute's time, and then said, "Fine. You don't want to talk? Fine. I'll come back tomorrow, bright and early when you're still all hungover, and I'll knock on that door until you answer. And then-- then, I'll sit here and I'll wait. . . until you grow the fuck up and stop treating me like some moron who doesn't know what the real world's like." This time it was Clark who moved closer. He took one step in, and that put him close. Then he took another, deliberately holding Lex's eyes as he did, and that. . . that put them about an inch away from touching.
"I'm not stupid," Clark said to him quietly. Lex ducked his head, and Clark very nearly reached up to grab his chin and make him look back, but. . . "And neither are you. I know-- " He took the deep breath before the plunge. "I know you have questions and things you need to hear and-- but I can't-- I can't tell you now, Lex. I'm sorry. I am. I'm really fucking sorry, but I just. . . can't tell you."
He trailed off pathetically and wished he'd rethought the whole plan of attack tonight, waited until tomorrow, or the day after or the one after that. His luck had run out. Maybe he'd used it all up already on Chloe and Pete and Barry. Maybe making four people smile in one day was just. . . impossible for Clark.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he finally whispered to Lex's head. He wanted to reach out and kiss him, but figured that sort of thing wasn't allowed when you were fighting. Kinda. Clark made to turn around, and just as he took a step back and started to face his left--
Lex reached out and grabbed his arm.
***
Clark said he was sorry two more times before Lex actually told him to shut up. Was it wrong to have sex with someone who was drunk? Even if he'd had sex with him before?
Lex ran his nails down Clark's right leg at one point. Hard. Clark didn't flinch, and Lex didn't say anything, so he figured this was their stalemate. He couldn't tell Lex what Lex needed to know. Not now. Not when things were just. . . getting better.
It was the first time Lex didn't ask him if he were all right every minute or two. It was the first time Clark didn't resort to gripping his own hair or holding his hands tight across his chest.
Lex never said one word about the ripped sheets, or the three very distinct and thoroughly embarrassing finger-sized holes punched into the mattress on Clark's side. He didn't raise his eyebrows or sneer or stalk off or any of the many things Clark feared and expected he would do.
No, that night, Lex was drunk and he started out mean, verbally, but he wasn't mean with his body. He never showed even the slightest bit of resentment or anger once he'd dragged Clark into the bedroom and pushed him down on his back.
That was how he knew it'd been a test. Lex lied. He was good at it, at least Clark had always thought so. Now, though-- now, he knew one of the signals. Now, he knew what to look for.
Lex lied. He could do it with his facial expressions and his voice, even his eyes, but he couldn't lie with his body. Lex wasn't angry at Clark, or at least he wasn't by the time the two fingers of his left hand were working inside Clark's ass and his tongue was slicking across the roof of Clark's mouth. Lex's fingers were deliberate, but they weren't abrupt or too forceful. The way he pushed and tugged and positioned Clark was somewhat aggressive, but it wasn't cold. It wasn't detached or scornful or Lex getting off on some kind of power trip.
Lex never said sorry with his mouth, at least not verbally. His body said it, though. His hands when they ran up and down and molded around Clark's thighs said it. His lips when he kissed the back of Clark's neck said it.
Even his eyes, when he looked at Clark afterward, and the way his breath hitched ever so slightly, barely noticeable -- unless you were an alien -- even then, Lex said 'I'm sorry.' And when he pursed his lips and closed his eyes and turned his head away, and yet his fingers gripped Clark's hair tighter and his legs, Lex's strong, perfect legs, moved and shifted around just a bit, just enough that almost every inch of them touched Clark's legs, well. . .
Well, that's when Lex was really saying something more than 'I'm sorry.'
Lost Souls - Fourteen