Ficlet: Dedication (FebFF 2016 Day Five(ish), G, 536 words)
Title: Dedication
Category: fic
Pairing: Clex
Rating: G
Word Count: 536
Spoilers: None for the series (Canon-divergent)
Notes: Written for my little February Fic Fest thing. Song referenced is "Wrapped Around Your Finger" by the Police. I chose it for two reasons: 1) the implication of an age gap between 'singer' and 'subject' and 2) literary references that seemed appropriate aimed at Lex.
Summary: Destination is sometimes less important than the journey, as long as you get somewhere
Clark puts his hand over the knob of the radio. Lex wouldn't mind, if the station wasn't turned to a station that's supposedly Top 40 hits, but seems stuck on love songs. Bad love songs, good love songs, songs about pining songs about sex, songs about...
"Leave it. Please," Clark asks, wide-eyed and beautiful.
Lex drops his hand away from the controls. "I'm pretty sure no one should feel this way about their tractor."
For a moment, Clark seems on the verge of defending the song or the artist, but he deflates back into the passenger seat. "Yeah. But it's almost--"
The sudden absence of Clark's voice is hint enough; Lex doesn't have to turn his head to know the teen probably looks shifty. The ode to a tractor--or a semitruck, Lex isn't very clear--ends and morphs into something from the 80s. Clark lets out a breath, but stays silent in the passenge seat.
Over the introductory music, the DJ introduces another prerecoded caller. Lex would ignore it as he has the previous handful of callers and dedications, but the stumbling voice that comes over the radio is very familiar. When asked for a name, the young man strips over, "Kal. From, uh. Missouri."
"Okay, Kal from Missouri," the DJ says gamely. "What's your heartsong and who is the target of your affection?"
"Uh, Wrapped Aound Your Finger. For--" the voice drops on the name, but Lex catches enough of the consonant sound to recognize his own name. The announcer asks for it to be repeated, but the caller has disappeared.
The song volume goes up, no longer drowned out by the speakers. Sting makes several literary references while Lex processes and Clark ducks down further in his seat, like he can somehow now hide from the situation he seemed determined to lead them to just minutes before.
"Second thoughts?" Lex asks lightly. He can be gracious and let Clark have an out if the teen wants. If nothing else, it will make the rest of the drive more comfortable if Clark isn't trying to escape by some form of osmosis through the door.
Clark shakes his head, then clears his throat and says quietly, "No. I just didn't realize I'd sound so stupid."
"You sounded--" like yourself, Lex doesn't say. "Fine. Though, Missouri?"
"A lot of my friends--classmates--listen to this station."
The wording changes in the song, a shift in the power dynamic as it winds down. "You are aware of the implications?" Lex asks, just to be sure.
"Yes." Clark does sound certain of that, at least. It's enough to start with.
Lex checks his mirrors and out the windows, then pulls off onto one of the rough dirt paths into the nearest cornfield. Instant privacy, Kansas-style. Clark's looking at him again, eyes wide and darkening. Lex barely gets the car in park before Clark is lunging toward him despite the seatbelt. And the belt should hold him back, is made to restrain people for their safety, but there's a terrible ripping sound and Clark is in Lex's lap and--
Clark makes a muffled protest against Lex's mouth as Lex turns the radio off, but he can only handle so many sappy love songs.
Category: fic
Pairing: Clex
Rating: G
Word Count: 536
Spoilers: None for the series (Canon-divergent)
Notes: Written for my little February Fic Fest thing. Song referenced is "Wrapped Around Your Finger" by the Police. I chose it for two reasons: 1) the implication of an age gap between 'singer' and 'subject' and 2) literary references that seemed appropriate aimed at Lex.
Summary: Destination is sometimes less important than the journey, as long as you get somewhere
Clark puts his hand over the knob of the radio. Lex wouldn't mind, if the station wasn't turned to a station that's supposedly Top 40 hits, but seems stuck on love songs. Bad love songs, good love songs, songs about pining songs about sex, songs about...
"Leave it. Please," Clark asks, wide-eyed and beautiful.
Lex drops his hand away from the controls. "I'm pretty sure no one should feel this way about their tractor."
For a moment, Clark seems on the verge of defending the song or the artist, but he deflates back into the passenger seat. "Yeah. But it's almost--"
The sudden absence of Clark's voice is hint enough; Lex doesn't have to turn his head to know the teen probably looks shifty. The ode to a tractor--or a semitruck, Lex isn't very clear--ends and morphs into something from the 80s. Clark lets out a breath, but stays silent in the passenge seat.
Over the introductory music, the DJ introduces another prerecoded caller. Lex would ignore it as he has the previous handful of callers and dedications, but the stumbling voice that comes over the radio is very familiar. When asked for a name, the young man strips over, "Kal. From, uh. Missouri."
"Okay, Kal from Missouri," the DJ says gamely. "What's your heartsong and who is the target of your affection?"
"Uh, Wrapped Aound Your Finger. For--" the voice drops on the name, but Lex catches enough of the consonant sound to recognize his own name. The announcer asks for it to be repeated, but the caller has disappeared.
The song volume goes up, no longer drowned out by the speakers. Sting makes several literary references while Lex processes and Clark ducks down further in his seat, like he can somehow now hide from the situation he seemed determined to lead them to just minutes before.
"Second thoughts?" Lex asks lightly. He can be gracious and let Clark have an out if the teen wants. If nothing else, it will make the rest of the drive more comfortable if Clark isn't trying to escape by some form of osmosis through the door.
Clark shakes his head, then clears his throat and says quietly, "No. I just didn't realize I'd sound so stupid."
"You sounded--" like yourself, Lex doesn't say. "Fine. Though, Missouri?"
"A lot of my friends--classmates--listen to this station."
The wording changes in the song, a shift in the power dynamic as it winds down. "You are aware of the implications?" Lex asks, just to be sure.
"Yes." Clark does sound certain of that, at least. It's enough to start with.
Lex checks his mirrors and out the windows, then pulls off onto one of the rough dirt paths into the nearest cornfield. Instant privacy, Kansas-style. Clark's looking at him again, eyes wide and darkening. Lex barely gets the car in park before Clark is lunging toward him despite the seatbelt. And the belt should hold him back, is made to restrain people for their safety, but there's a terrible ripping sound and Clark is in Lex's lap and--
Clark makes a muffled protest against Lex's mouth as Lex turns the radio off, but he can only handle so many sappy love songs.