Smallville Big Bang 2013 - Life as a Novel in Progress (post 5/6)
The great lord Kal lay sprawled across his dais, blue golden skin gleaming in the captured sunlight of the crystals. "Come before me, human."
Alexander balked, but the guards pushed him forward. The message was clear; he would comply, through his own volition or by force. He raised his head and walked forward. There was a noise behind him as he put a foot upon the first step, a warning barely heard before Kal raised his hand and the noise was silent. Feeling certain he was overstepping, Alexander continued forward…
Lex considered interrupting it there, having another character protest, but decided against it. He backspaced over the second half of the sentence and continued writing.
Alexander placed a foot on the second step, bravado and duty pressing him forward.
The alien watched him with his unearthly green purple green eyes.”
Alexander reached the top of the steps and then stood, waiting. Kal's eyes wandered hotly over him, taking in the nakedness they'd forced on him, the half-hard cock that neither fear nor will could eliminate, not in the presence of-- No, he was not going to consider the alien's aesthetic beauty.
"Kneel," Kal ordered. Alexander went, conscious of the golden groin as it came to eye level, the protrusion of an erection that was near-human and familiar enough to make his mouth water. Over the top of his head, Kal's next command went to the rest of the room. "Leave us."
His desire was hard to fight. He focused on the discomfort of his position, the hard floor beneath him, the forced exhibitionism that had never been his kink. The submissive role that suited him sexually. Why could he not keep his focus?
A large, golden hand reached for him, carded gently through the red of his hair--
"I like the bald," Clark said at his shoulder.
A quick tap of keys reduced the text window. "Rule number something, because I haven't ever needed to actually write them out: do not read anything I don't put into your hands with a bow tie. Not on my computer, not any of the printouts I use to review the work myself."
"Sorry." Clark retreated, started toward the counter where he had laid food out earlier, but stopped. "Um. Do you want me to stay out of the kitchen for a while?"
"Yes," he said brusquely, bringing the window back up. "No," he said just as quickly. Clark hadn’t even started putting the food away, Lex had changed his mind so quickly. He sighed. "Sorry."
"I am, too," Clark said, leaning back against the counter and offering Lex an apologetic look. "I won't read anything you don't want me to." His pose wasn’t quite flirtatious, but he was stretched into a long, bowed line that showed off the length and leanness of him very nicely.
If his words could invoke that image for his readers, this novel would fly off the shelves.
"I do not know enough of your Earth to find the word that suits you best. Your body and face please me." The hand left Alexander's head as long legs splayed to either side of his body. "But now I wish for your hands to please me. It may take time, but I would have you learn through practice."
Given not so much as leave to touch but a directive to do so, Alexander reached forward and stilled the trembling of his hand on Kal's knee. He felt the warmth in the air above the alien's skin, but at first touch, he was surprised by the living fire. His mind began warring with itself again, this time the scientist coming to the fore in an effort to catalog temperature and the possible implications of it.
He thrust the curiosity aside and closed his mind to all but the lover, the role demanded of him in this situation. Offering pleasure was something he could do, even on an unlearned and wholly alien lover. And though Kal had commanded his hands, Alexander allowed the lover in himself his desire and followed hands with a mouth to that golden skin.
There was no sound, of pleasure or warning. He was suddenly pulled into the alien's lap by strong hands on his upper arms lifting him. He feared he had truly erred, beyond his earlier daring and with far worse consequences. The alien's gaze was close. "I have seen this. The touch of mouth. I understand its use for sex, but I did not ask you for it. Your hands."
Without further warning, he was released to sit straddled over the alien’s knees, hands hanging uselessly in the air between them. His own erection was fuller than before and resting, discontentedly, on the alien's thighs. Fear and excitement twined together for an erotic thrill.
'Learn through practice', the alien had said. Alexander leaned forward to set his hands to the alien's chest and tried to keep his breathing under control.
The room was silent when his fingers stilled over the keyboard. Clark shifted, but didn't say anything. Lex glared silently at the screen before formulating his complaint to Clark. "You know what I'm tired of? I'm tired of writing a character who revels in the fear, or gets off on the unknown and the mystery."
Clark watched him with wide eyes. Lex could read his curiosity, almost as much as his concern. “Then what is it you do want?”
That was a question to consider, but Lex had to be honest that when it came to his writing, what he absolutely wanted was less important than what his editor, agent, and audience wanted. And from feedback on Bite and the rest of the vampire novels told him was that mystery-and-fear-compelled porn sold really, terrifyingly well. “I want to write a book that will sell.”
“Do you ever write just for… pleasure?”
Lex had struggled to keep Clark out of the alien story and instead made his alien overlord into everything he thought was antithesis to Clark: imperious, experienced, cold. The similarities to Bruce were unsettling, but he pushed for it, imagined a Mirror verse Clark with a goatee and blue skin. It was so hard to let that imaginary Clark take hold of his mind when the real thing was puttering around the kitchen.
He had told himself he was going to keep this novel away from his personal life, but he was only halfway into a scene that felt forced and wrong when another idea occurred to him. Lex glanced at Clark again, who had finally turned back to do whatever it is he did with raw ingredients before turning them into delicious meals. He shouldn’t, but he was so very bad at denying himself what he wanted, either.
The Overlord dragged Alexander through the halls of the ship, his punishing grip no doubt leaving bruises that would take weeks to fade. Alexander couldn't tell if the bruises the alien left on him were a result of the thing’s brute strength, or if Alexander was bruising easier because of malnourishment. He didn't know what it was he was being forced to eat to survive, but the meals were not recognizable in look, taste, or texture. Alexander thought about anemia and scurvy instead of the possibility of his own death.
The door at the end of this corridor opened with the same swish as all the others, and there was nothing at first to set the room apart from any other. It was not until the Overlord released him that Alexander recognized elements in the room that were familiar. A bed, a low table with books. Another table, low to the ground, along the back wall, taken over with covered dishes.
It was the first time he’d been alone with the Overlord, the first time there was no audience to the things the creature did to him, and forced Alexander to do to him. “Sit,” the alien commanded, gesturing toward the lower table and the cushions scattered around the floor around it.
It was beyond Alexander to argue at that point, though he could feel all the words rising in the back of his throat like bile. He stumbled once in crossing the small room, but he kept his chin high and his back straight as he sat down.
He wasn’t conscious of the alien following, but then the opaque crystal covers from the dishes and Alexander’s stomach twisted at the sight of familiar foods. It was incongruous with the glass and metal surroundings and it was far from the bland, taupe-colored pastes they consumed. Alexander couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering between steak and ham, cubed potatoes that looked to be cooked in butter, dinner rolls and vegetables that he’d taken for granted most of his life. And at the center of it all was the perfect, round dish of lattice crust apple pie.
Kal’s voice was deep, but soft. “You are not sustained. Eat.”
Alexander looked up instead of obeying, hearing the words at once as an order and an entreaty. “Why?”
“Because I have ordered it,” the alien said firmly.
He had felt this before, this instinct that told him that what appeared before him was not truly what it appeared. Alexander trusted his instincts, he’d had to for so long, but he’d been doubting himself. No more would he doubt. “Why?” he asked again.
The alien stared back at him for a long time before answering, but he did eventually answer. “Because I would have you well.” It was not in what the alien said, Alexander thought, or even in how the words were spoken. The alien was ever so careful, especially in front of his subordinates. It was in the lack of things said, in how guarded this creature was to appear ever indifferent of Alexander’s well-being, but interested in him nonetheless.
“If it mattered so much to you that I was sustained, you could well mix all of this into the paste you serve yourselves. The nutrients would be received regardless of the taste of it. That is how you eat, after all. Why?”
“Because when I speak of you being well, I mean not only your body. This is ‘comfort food’, is it not? Are you not comforted?”
Alexander bit back his first retort and instead looked again at the spread of food before him. He picked up the fork laid out for him, then looked up again. “I am, actually.”
The alien hesitated to respond and in that moment, Alexander saw it, the crack in the alien’s defenses, the weakness he’d been sent to uncover.
Discretion and valor aside, Lex knew he was a coward when he put away his tablet for the moment, rolled up the portable keyboard, and stood away from the kitchen table. “I’m going to see if Mrs. Quartermain has baked her daily allotment.”
Clark grinned at him over his shoulder. “Please make sure to tell Mrs. Q I asked you to bring some home.”
“You already have leave to call her by a nickname, you can probably stop buttering her up now,” Lex said.
“It’s not about being in her good graces, Lex. It’s about reminding the people you care about that they’re in yours.”
Of course it was. Lex gave him a look he hoped indicated that he didn’t buy that for a second, and Clark’s quiet laugh helped push him out the door. Better to escape while he could before Clark’s quiet and wholesome charisma induced him to linger further. Forever.
Mrs. Quartermain was on her porch when he cut through the grass of their yards toward it. She waved as he called up a hello to her before taking the steps up quickly. She gestured toward the door and let him open it for her and follow after without explaining why he was there.
All his other valid reasons aside, this was one of the main reasons he was forever allied to Constance Quartermain; no other place had been so wholly welcomed to him, no other person aside from Lois had ever adopted him so completely that even when he could find no excuse to be there could he simply show up anyway and know that his presence would be accepted.
"I like your young man," Mrs. Quartermain said as she allowed Lex to pick up the tea service and carry it into the front room.
"Could we speak of something else, please?" he asked as he settled the tray and then set to pouring for each of them. He was aware of her gaze on him as he went through the motions and took his seat.
"We could," she answered. "But why discuss anything else when he will be at the forefront of your mind, Lex?"
"Because I haven't decided how I want to think of him." The possessive she'd included, 'your young man' was as tempting as a warm kitchen and the smell of herbs that had overtaken it.
She tutted as she leaned back in the chair opposite. "I can believe that, at least. Though I rather think he knows what to make of you already."
Lex eyed her carefully. "What did he say when he came over?"
For a moment, she looked too imperious to answer him, her teacup and saucer held high. Then she cracked a smile again. "Very little, actually. I'm starting to think his stomach is lead-lined and his taste buds are dead, since he mostly ate my cookies and listened to me prattle on."
He'd long suspected that the cookies were not an accident, but she'd never confirmed it before. "My lady, you are delightedly devious."
Mrs. Quartermain accepted that with the same grace as the rest of his compliments. "Thank you, Lex. Now, if we are not discussing a certain young man, what shall we talk about today? Your new book, perhaps?"
He hesitated, because he'd already managed to intertwine Clark with the new story in exactly the way he hadn't wanted to, similar to what he'd done with Bruce. But if there was any insight to be gained from his friend and confidant, then perhaps this was just the tact he needed. "It's about aliens," he led in.
"Oh," she said delightedly, leaning forward. "Are they very similar to us?"
Because Lex truly could not avoid thinking of the man for more than a few minutes at a time, the first thing that came to mind at Mrs. Quartermain’s question was Clark. “They’re physically different and they come off as cold and austere. But I want to make them sympathetic.”
Next Part: Chapter Three