Echoes, Part Three (3/5) -- Open Road
Disclaimer: 'Smallville' and certain characters belong to Miller-Gough et al. No profit is gained from this writing, only, hopefully, enjoyment.
*** Lost Souls - Open Road
He nudged his boot against Clark's shoe under the table. When he looked up in response, Lex raised his eyebrows and mouthed 'What's wrong?' quickly, on the off-chance his father might be looking his way again at that moment.
Clark shook his head, and the corner of his mouth turned up. He glanced over at Lex's father and then back to Lex.
Well, yeah, there was that, but Lex was completely sure that wasn't the true cause of Clark's mood. He'd been like this for weeks now, long before Lex had finally managed to summon up the nerve to ask him here tonight. Something else was bothering Clark, and no matter which tack he took, Lex couldn't figure out exactly what that something was. He tried wheedling, flirting, understanding, supportive, had even gone for indignant last night, and still nothing was forthcoming. He'd been hoping that maybe springing the question on Clark would yield results, but this moment disproved that theory also.
Clark was a great deal like a closed book most of the time, and in the past few weeks that particular character trait had become much more pronounced. Frankly, Lex was sick of it. He hated feeling out of the loop, always the last to know, if ever told at all. He'd thought with Clark at least that he was done experiencing that alienated feeling, but here it was again, just as sharp as ever.
He wondered if Clark's friends knew what was eating at him. He wondered if Clark even still talked to his friends back in Smallville, for he never made mention of them, never talked about anything to do with the town at all. Then Lex blinked, and swallowed quickly, and looked a little more closely at Clark's face.
Those eyebrows weren't drawn together, and those eyes themselves weren't narrowed. Clark wasn't worried then, as Lex knew his worried face extremely well. Slight downturn to the mouth, yes, but it wasn't a frown precisely. Truth to tell, when taken into consideration separately, individually, Clark's features didn't give a clue as to what he was actually feeling or thinking. Lex was back to the drawing board.
What would make Clark sulk without sulking? Was he sulking? The more he thought on it, the more convinced Lex became that Clark wasn't sulking, actually. Sad? Depressed? If he were worried, and Lex was somehow misreading all the signs, then what would be the correct course of action? Would confronting Clark prove effective, or was this another instance wherein Lex simply waiting him out in silence eventually moved Clark to confess all?
Whatever the case, Lex needed to figure it out and soon. Even virtual strangers were picking up on Clark's funk these days. Lex's father himself had remarked on it just this evening, and things were pretty bad when Clark couldn't even fake happy to Dad. Things were pretty bad when Clark didn't bother to fake happy to anyone-to everyone.
Although, Lex found it comforting that what he'd clued into two weeks ago was just now coming to other people's attentions. Clark had been 'off' since the summer had started, since before then really, since moving to the city.
Since. . .
Lex dropped his eyes down to the table, and had to consciously stop himself from fidgeting with the silverware in front of him. Dad wouldn't likely react negatively here in public, but if Lex did mess up, then eventually he'd find himself on the receiving end of another lecture on proper dining and social etiquette, and how as a Luthor he had an image to uphold, and that "playing with the damned silverware, Lex, isn't what professionals do!"
He sighed, trying to shift his focus to the fact that at least his brief words with the organizer of the seating had proven fruitful. Dad was still in intense debate with the Russian ambassador, and had hardly paid any attention to Lex whatsoever, let alone Clark. Which was a good thing, definitely, but which line of thought also effectively brought Lex back to thinking about Clark, and about Clark's mood in particular.
It wasn't an anniversary that Lex knew of. The six month mark was still a ways down the road, and neither of the Kents had had a summer birthday. Lex had even checked into the Clarks, and neither William nor Mary celebrated anything in late June. The Fourth of July was coming up, but he didn't think that held any remarkable--
A hand set down heavily on his left shoulder, and Lex turned his head quickly in that direction. His father was smirking at him, the Russian ambassador following his line of sight.
"Of course, Lex speaks fluent Russian, as well," Dad boasted, patting Lex's shoulder and then slightly digging his fingers into the bone out of sight on the final downward motion. The two were obviously still engaged in discussion, but Lex took Dad's hint and forced himself to pay attention and contribute. When the topic switched to something Lex wasn't expected to know a great deal about, he managed to look away. He hadn't been alive in the 70s, after all, and "call me Yuri" was obviously most interested in Dad's own experiences, not Lex's. In fact, Lex had the distinct impression the ambassador was almos-flirting with his father.
So Lex went to turn back to Clark, and instead found himself staring in shock at Clark's empty seat. He sat there, perplexed, for a few seconds, before promptly and discreetly excusing himself from the table. His first guess was the bathroom, but only because it was closest. Of course Clark wasn't there. Next, Lex made a circuit of the room, trying his best not to get snared into any conversations. Still, there was no sign of Clark.
Lex eventually wound up standing stunned at the bar, wondering if Clark hadn't just left entirely. Then he felt a warm breeze on his head and neck, and looked to find its source. A laughing man and woman were reentering the building through a set of French doors. Beyond them, Lex could just make out what appeared to be a large decorative garden with. . .
He was across the tile floor and out that door in less than 30 seconds, and then it was just a matter of playing hide-and-seek. The patio was wide and descended into two sets of stairs down to the lawn and garden. Lex veered to the right staircase, still politely nodding to everyone but never stopping to chat. He couldn't even rationalize it to himself, but somehow he knew where to go, away from the crowd of people, as far from the noise and light as he could get and still be on the property. Clark wouldn't have left, he realized, but he couldn't stay inside there, either. And Lex wanted to put that down to the recent tragedies in his life, his parents' deaths and the sheer coldness of the Clarks, but the fact was Clark had always kept to himself, had always stayed at the edge.
He was, in that way, very much like Lex himself.
Trees lined several pathways through the garden, and Lex chose the rightmost again. He walked, and as soon as he was out of sight of the patio and the people up there, he increased his pace. There were bugs out, lots of them, and occasionally one would fly close to his ear or directly in his line of sight. It was when Lex was mid-swipe at dislodging one such particularly annoying mosquito that a hand shot out and grabbed him by the shoulder. Before he knew it he was being hugged, and it was already quite warm outside, being late June in Kansas, but Lex honestly didn't mind the extra heat coming from Clark.
Not at all.
He liked to think that he made the first move, that he closed most of the distance between them. Probably, though, it was more of a tie, a race to see who could get there first. Lex virtually mashed his lips against Clark's, and, for his part, Clark seemed just as equally determined to mold himself to Lex. There was Clark's tongue, and Lex met it with his own, launching a series of jabs and parries. Lex also took that time to put his hands to good use. He ran them down along the ridges of Clark's spine, over his shirt, and then dipped below the belt and waistband of Clark's pants. Next, Lex started pulling said shirt up and out, so that he could run his hands back up Clark's spine-this time with no barrier.
Eventually, they pulled apart, but Lex was too absorbed in just experiencing the moment to really keep track of things like that anymore. It was most likely only a minute or two, but with Clark time did have a habit of passing in odd ways. Sometimes- sometimes, it almost seemed like it was moving backwards, like when it was the two of them alone there very nearly existed the possibility of rewriting their own history.
Or that's what it felt like, at least.
And while these days pulling back from Clark was proving more and more difficult, the effects of such a withdrawal were eased somewhat by Lex's increasing freedom with Clark's person. He could touch any part of him, had touched nearly every part of him. Lex could kiss him anywhere, on his lips, his cheek, his neck, his thigh, the ball of his foot, the peak of his hipbone, or the tip of his cock, and he could do so because. . .
Clark suddenly dived back in and resumed his attempts at conquering Lex's mouth. It crossed his mind at that point, before he again lost himself in the haze that was Clark, to hope that no one stumbled upon the two of them out here in the garden in what was fast becoming a compromising situation.
But as he finally succeeded in getting his hands on the skin of Clark's back, and in turn found one of Clark's hands sneaking down the front of his pants, Lex knew he honestly didn't care. Clark might have been feeling sad, might still feel guilty or ashamed for some reason in response to his parents' deaths, but he was here with Lex. And as long as he was here, there was always the chance to make things better, to do it right.
For with Clark, only with Clark, Lex knew what it was to think about the future and not feel-dread. Clark squeezed Lex; Lex bit Clark's lip in response; Clark smiled, and Lex felt it against his lips, tasted that smile in his mouth, swallowed it down to his very core.
That was hope right there, that smile. It was bliss and seemingly endless possibility.
With Clark. Only with Clark.
***
Part Four - Golden Path
*** Lost Souls - Open Road
He nudged his boot against Clark's shoe under the table. When he looked up in response, Lex raised his eyebrows and mouthed 'What's wrong?' quickly, on the off-chance his father might be looking his way again at that moment.
Clark shook his head, and the corner of his mouth turned up. He glanced over at Lex's father and then back to Lex.
Well, yeah, there was that, but Lex was completely sure that wasn't the true cause of Clark's mood. He'd been like this for weeks now, long before Lex had finally managed to summon up the nerve to ask him here tonight. Something else was bothering Clark, and no matter which tack he took, Lex couldn't figure out exactly what that something was. He tried wheedling, flirting, understanding, supportive, had even gone for indignant last night, and still nothing was forthcoming. He'd been hoping that maybe springing the question on Clark would yield results, but this moment disproved that theory also.
Clark was a great deal like a closed book most of the time, and in the past few weeks that particular character trait had become much more pronounced. Frankly, Lex was sick of it. He hated feeling out of the loop, always the last to know, if ever told at all. He'd thought with Clark at least that he was done experiencing that alienated feeling, but here it was again, just as sharp as ever.
He wondered if Clark's friends knew what was eating at him. He wondered if Clark even still talked to his friends back in Smallville, for he never made mention of them, never talked about anything to do with the town at all. Then Lex blinked, and swallowed quickly, and looked a little more closely at Clark's face.
Those eyebrows weren't drawn together, and those eyes themselves weren't narrowed. Clark wasn't worried then, as Lex knew his worried face extremely well. Slight downturn to the mouth, yes, but it wasn't a frown precisely. Truth to tell, when taken into consideration separately, individually, Clark's features didn't give a clue as to what he was actually feeling or thinking. Lex was back to the drawing board.
What would make Clark sulk without sulking? Was he sulking? The more he thought on it, the more convinced Lex became that Clark wasn't sulking, actually. Sad? Depressed? If he were worried, and Lex was somehow misreading all the signs, then what would be the correct course of action? Would confronting Clark prove effective, or was this another instance wherein Lex simply waiting him out in silence eventually moved Clark to confess all?
Whatever the case, Lex needed to figure it out and soon. Even virtual strangers were picking up on Clark's funk these days. Lex's father himself had remarked on it just this evening, and things were pretty bad when Clark couldn't even fake happy to Dad. Things were pretty bad when Clark didn't bother to fake happy to anyone-to everyone.
Although, Lex found it comforting that what he'd clued into two weeks ago was just now coming to other people's attentions. Clark had been 'off' since the summer had started, since before then really, since moving to the city.
Since. . .
Lex dropped his eyes down to the table, and had to consciously stop himself from fidgeting with the silverware in front of him. Dad wouldn't likely react negatively here in public, but if Lex did mess up, then eventually he'd find himself on the receiving end of another lecture on proper dining and social etiquette, and how as a Luthor he had an image to uphold, and that "playing with the damned silverware, Lex, isn't what professionals do!"
He sighed, trying to shift his focus to the fact that at least his brief words with the organizer of the seating had proven fruitful. Dad was still in intense debate with the Russian ambassador, and had hardly paid any attention to Lex whatsoever, let alone Clark. Which was a good thing, definitely, but which line of thought also effectively brought Lex back to thinking about Clark, and about Clark's mood in particular.
It wasn't an anniversary that Lex knew of. The six month mark was still a ways down the road, and neither of the Kents had had a summer birthday. Lex had even checked into the Clarks, and neither William nor Mary celebrated anything in late June. The Fourth of July was coming up, but he didn't think that held any remarkable--
A hand set down heavily on his left shoulder, and Lex turned his head quickly in that direction. His father was smirking at him, the Russian ambassador following his line of sight.
"Of course, Lex speaks fluent Russian, as well," Dad boasted, patting Lex's shoulder and then slightly digging his fingers into the bone out of sight on the final downward motion. The two were obviously still engaged in discussion, but Lex took Dad's hint and forced himself to pay attention and contribute. When the topic switched to something Lex wasn't expected to know a great deal about, he managed to look away. He hadn't been alive in the 70s, after all, and "call me Yuri" was obviously most interested in Dad's own experiences, not Lex's. In fact, Lex had the distinct impression the ambassador was almos-flirting with his father.
So Lex went to turn back to Clark, and instead found himself staring in shock at Clark's empty seat. He sat there, perplexed, for a few seconds, before promptly and discreetly excusing himself from the table. His first guess was the bathroom, but only because it was closest. Of course Clark wasn't there. Next, Lex made a circuit of the room, trying his best not to get snared into any conversations. Still, there was no sign of Clark.
Lex eventually wound up standing stunned at the bar, wondering if Clark hadn't just left entirely. Then he felt a warm breeze on his head and neck, and looked to find its source. A laughing man and woman were reentering the building through a set of French doors. Beyond them, Lex could just make out what appeared to be a large decorative garden with. . .
He was across the tile floor and out that door in less than 30 seconds, and then it was just a matter of playing hide-and-seek. The patio was wide and descended into two sets of stairs down to the lawn and garden. Lex veered to the right staircase, still politely nodding to everyone but never stopping to chat. He couldn't even rationalize it to himself, but somehow he knew where to go, away from the crowd of people, as far from the noise and light as he could get and still be on the property. Clark wouldn't have left, he realized, but he couldn't stay inside there, either. And Lex wanted to put that down to the recent tragedies in his life, his parents' deaths and the sheer coldness of the Clarks, but the fact was Clark had always kept to himself, had always stayed at the edge.
He was, in that way, very much like Lex himself.
Trees lined several pathways through the garden, and Lex chose the rightmost again. He walked, and as soon as he was out of sight of the patio and the people up there, he increased his pace. There were bugs out, lots of them, and occasionally one would fly close to his ear or directly in his line of sight. It was when Lex was mid-swipe at dislodging one such particularly annoying mosquito that a hand shot out and grabbed him by the shoulder. Before he knew it he was being hugged, and it was already quite warm outside, being late June in Kansas, but Lex honestly didn't mind the extra heat coming from Clark.
Not at all.
He liked to think that he made the first move, that he closed most of the distance between them. Probably, though, it was more of a tie, a race to see who could get there first. Lex virtually mashed his lips against Clark's, and, for his part, Clark seemed just as equally determined to mold himself to Lex. There was Clark's tongue, and Lex met it with his own, launching a series of jabs and parries. Lex also took that time to put his hands to good use. He ran them down along the ridges of Clark's spine, over his shirt, and then dipped below the belt and waistband of Clark's pants. Next, Lex started pulling said shirt up and out, so that he could run his hands back up Clark's spine-this time with no barrier.
Eventually, they pulled apart, but Lex was too absorbed in just experiencing the moment to really keep track of things like that anymore. It was most likely only a minute or two, but with Clark time did have a habit of passing in odd ways. Sometimes- sometimes, it almost seemed like it was moving backwards, like when it was the two of them alone there very nearly existed the possibility of rewriting their own history.
Or that's what it felt like, at least.
And while these days pulling back from Clark was proving more and more difficult, the effects of such a withdrawal were eased somewhat by Lex's increasing freedom with Clark's person. He could touch any part of him, had touched nearly every part of him. Lex could kiss him anywhere, on his lips, his cheek, his neck, his thigh, the ball of his foot, the peak of his hipbone, or the tip of his cock, and he could do so because. . .
Clark suddenly dived back in and resumed his attempts at conquering Lex's mouth. It crossed his mind at that point, before he again lost himself in the haze that was Clark, to hope that no one stumbled upon the two of them out here in the garden in what was fast becoming a compromising situation.
But as he finally succeeded in getting his hands on the skin of Clark's back, and in turn found one of Clark's hands sneaking down the front of his pants, Lex knew he honestly didn't care. Clark might have been feeling sad, might still feel guilty or ashamed for some reason in response to his parents' deaths, but he was here with Lex. And as long as he was here, there was always the chance to make things better, to do it right.
For with Clark, only with Clark, Lex knew what it was to think about the future and not feel-dread. Clark squeezed Lex; Lex bit Clark's lip in response; Clark smiled, and Lex felt it against his lips, tasted that smile in his mouth, swallowed it down to his very core.
That was hope right there, that smile. It was bliss and seemingly endless possibility.
With Clark. Only with Clark.
***
Part Four - Golden Path