Fic: (SV) Russianred 1/?
Explicit in some passages, AU, Luthor-family intrigues.
Working premise: Take-off of early season intro of Lucas, Lex's bastard half-brother.
[New York, present]
At Fifty-Seventh and Broadway, Coliseum Books is being torn down to make way for a Fleet Bank and a Daffy clothing store. Across the street, Lechter's Housewares has already been replaced by a Payless Shoe Source.
Change, Lex thinks to himself, and his black-gloved hand flexes against the steering wheel as he drives past all these.
The white buildings crawl past the car's tinted windows, for even at this late hour the streets of New York love traffic, and when the post-theatre crowd forces Lex to slow down even further and stop on West Fifty-Seventh, his eyes doesn't even flicker toward the vast vacant hulk that was the former Russian Tea Room. Yet still, a whisper of red red hair steals from beneath the cover of his memories, spilling like heavy silk into his thoughts.
Too many things stay the same.
* * *
[New York, 1990]
"Look up, Alexander." The soft hand pressed into his gently, "Look at the fish."
As soon as they entered the Russian Tea Room, he'd squeezed his eyes shut against the red glare. The bright, larger-than-life red was everywhere he turned, in the carpet, the chairs, the vest of the girl who took his mother's cashmere coat. He kept his eyes closed, clutching his mother's hand even as they stepped into the elevator and he felt the ground move up beneath him. The elevator door slid open with a muted ping and an air-conditioned wind rushed against his face.
"Alexander." He felt his mother crouch down beside him, felt her cool touch on his cheek. "Trust me, it's beautiful." He took a deep breath and smelled the faint perfume of her face powder.
Tentatively, he opened one eye.
A giant towered over him, shimmering in the flicker of candlelight. In it's belly swam six pink fish.
"Oh," he exhaled quietly.
Beside him, his mother gave a satisfied sigh as she stood back up. "The great Ursus, symbol of Russia," she said, her hand on his shoulder, and though he didn't look away from the tall bear-shaped aquarium, he could hear the smile in her voice. "It truly is beautiful."
"Your usual table, Miss Lichacev?"
Lex looked away from the fish swimming behind the gently curving glass. A man in a red vest stood politely behind them, gaze attentive on his mother. Lex turned curiously to his mother, mouth opening to ask about this unfamiliar name, but his mother took his hand firmly in a manner that brooked no questions. "Yes, please," she answered, smoothing down her dove-gray skirt, and briskly followed the server. His hand caught in hers, Lex followed as fast as his shorter legs would let him.
They sat down at a small private table. Lex arranged his legs carefully in front of the chair; he felt ungainly with his feet dangling above the floor, although the floor was much closer now. He'd been shooting up fast this past year, making his mother smile as she presented him with new clothes.
Lex glanced around the rest of the darkened room as his mother spoke briefly to the server. There were hardly any children his age, mostly adults in glittering jewels and dark clothing. He stopped and stared when he saw an actor from his favorite television series. Their drinks arrived, and his mother accepted the tea set from the server with a gracious nod. "Don't stare, sweetheart," she murmured, setting a teacup in front of him, "it's impolite."
She poured him a cup from the antique-looking teapot -- a samovar, his mother corrected -- and watched him as he gingerly took the first sip. He gasped a little as the draught went straight to his nose. "Spiced tea," she smiled. "If you like it we can have the cook prepare it for you at home." A comforting warmth was slowing spreading from his throat down to his belly. He nodded happily, hands curled around his teacup.
"We'll come here, just you and me," she smiled, eyes bright in a pale-powdered face, "alright, Alexander? It'll be our special place."
He smiled back instinctively. His mother was the most beautiful lady in the world, and there was almost nothing more in the world he wanted than to have her all to himself. But....
"Not even Mila?"
She raised an eyebrow, then leaned back in her chair and looked at him. "What do you know about 'Mila'?" she said carefully. Flustered and red-faced, he looked down at the table, knowing he had let slip something he wasn't supposed to know. "Alexander?"
"You go out with her," he mumbled, feeling the heat in his face. "Into the gardens, and you smile. With her." He looked up stubbornly then, almost accusingly. "You *like* her."
"I do like her, Alexander, but you will always be the first in my heart." The answer came so readily that Lex could almost believe his mother had been practicing just those lines.
He stared hard into his half-empty teacup, furiously blinking back the prickling heat behind his eyes. Luthors don't show vulnerability unless it's calculated to his benefit, he could hear his dad saying.
A short pause, then his mother asked softly, "Do you *want* her here with us?"
He bit down on his lips. He liked to see his mother happy, and one Saturday morning when he'd slipped out of bed early, he'd seen her in the garden with that woman. She was smiling, hand in hand, as she walked with the other woman though the rose arbor. 'Mila,' she'd called her. His dad hadn't made his mother smile like that for a long time.
But he wanted her just to himself so much. "Maybe...maybe someday." He didn't look up from his teacup.
"Alright, Alexander, whatever you want."
They were quiet for a time then. In the silence, while wordlessly sipping his spiced tea and still unwilling to meet his mother's eyes, he first noticed the music. Somewhere behind them, a single piano player was finishing the final piece to Igor Stravinsky's 'The Rite of Spring.' He knew this because his mother liked to play this record on the beautiful brass and mahogany gramophone she kept on her bedside as she brushed her hair in the morning. His dad was often absent -- business, sweetheart, his mother would explain distantly -- and Lex could sleep in his mother's large bed without worrying about his dad rousing him from his mother's side in the middle of the night.
"Listen, Alexander." Lex chanced a look at his mother. Her eyes were closed now, and she had a far-off look on her face as she began humming softly with the piano music. She stopped suddenly and, with her eyes still closed, she smiled, "It sounds unfinished because it is meant to be played by two people."
At that moment, more than anything in the world, Lex wanted to be for his mother that one other person.
She opened her eyes and looked directly at him, that strange smile still on her lips, and said:
"Congratulations Alexander, you're going to be a brother."
[The title of the last piece in that piano composition is 'Sacrificial Dance of the Chosen One (Danse Sacrale).']
* * *
Joseph the butler was ready at the entrance when the chauffer opened the car door.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Luthor." He nodded solemnly to Lex. "Master Lex."
Lillian helped Lex out of the car and handed her coat to the butler. "Any visitors for me, Joseph?"
Joseph closed the entrance doors behind them. "Miss Jenkins is waiting for you in the sitting room." He hesitated and added quietly, gaze carefully neutral. "She arrived as Mister Luthor left."
Lillian paused in mid-stride, and glanced sharply at the butler. "Thank you, Joseph, that'll be all."
The butler nodded, too circumspect to say more, and walked down the hall with her coat over his arm.
She smiled at her son standing beside her. "Alexander - sweetheart - go see if the cook has desert ready."
Lex's face lit up in delight, and he quickly vanished in the direction of the kitchen.
Lillian watched him disappear around a corner before she went directly to her bedroom, bypassing the sitting room entirely. She closed the double bedroom doors securely behind her. "Pamela," she greeted quietly as she turned to face the bed, her hands still behind her on the door handles. The curtains on the long bay windows had been drawn closed, and a woman lay on the large canopied bed, legs long and graceful in front of her, her face half in shadows. Lillian could see a pair of elegant high heels discarded on the floor beside the bed. "I wasn't expecting you today."
"You know, you needn't wear so much make-up, Liliya."
Lillian locked the doors behind her and walked briskly over to her dresser. She unpinned her earrings and set them down on the vanity top. "Leave it be, Mila," she said quietly and reached behind her back for the tie on the dress.
Pamela's hand was suddenly on Lillian's back. "Here, let me," she murmured, breath warm in Lillian's ear. Lillian hadn't even heard her move from the bed.
Lillian stood silently as the dress was efficiently unlaced. She shivered slightly at the sudden cold air against her bare back; Pamela's warm fingers brushed her exposed shoulder blades. "Mila," Lillian suddenly started, and caught the other woman's hand in hers. She heard Pamela's breath hitch. The heavy silk dress fell unheeded to the floor.
Lillian slowly kissed the top of each knuckle and felt the echo of Pamela's every shudder with Pamela's chest pressed against her bare back.
Pamela's uneven breath warmed the nape of Lillian's neck. One hand reached around to gently cup Lillian's left breast through the lace bra. "Where is Alexander?" she murmured, her lips next to Lillian's ear.
"He's in the kitchen."
"Did you tell him?" Pamela pressed a kiss on her shoulder. "Yes, of course you did," she immediately answered her own question. She ran a finger down Lillian's cheek, smearing the heavy peach-colored face powder. Her other hand moved hypnotically against Lillian's breast. "When were you going to tell me?"
Lillian said nothing, only shuddered into Pamela's deliberate caress.
"I remember when you were with Alexander. You were pale then too." Pamela's hand worked down across Lillian's abdomen, slipped past the satin panties, past the thatch of fine short hairs below. She stroked Lillian gently. "What are you planning, Liliya?"
Lillian gasped harshly, her arms drawn tight behind her around Pamela's neck. "He took my body from me," she hissed. "He took me like one of his common whores." Her fingers gripped the back of Pamela's shoulders. "And then the doctors confirmed the pregnancy."
"Liliya..."
"Flesh of his flesh, Mila," she laughed breathlessly. "As he would take mine, so I his."
Pamela's arms loosened around her. "Your child too," she whispered, dismayed.
"No!" With wild strength, Lillian broke from Pamela's embrace and pushed her back against the wall. "Alexander is mine. This," her hand splayed against her still flat stomach, "this is his."
She pressed her body against Pamela's with bruising strength, tangled her fingers in Pamela's long auburn hair. Her eyes were fevered with hatred. "He will know what it is to be violated," Lillian whispered against Pamela's lips. "The sins of the father will be paid."
* * *
[Metropolis, 2006]
He pushed past the study room doors, stopped short at who he saw, and immediately detoured to the bar. "Hello, Dad," he greeted, tucking the folder under his arm as he poured himself a glass of brandy. "Didn't expect you quite so soon." He made a mental note to sweep through his staff again for Lionel's spies.
Lionel leaned forward in the leather chair and touched a framed picture on the desk. "You have your mother's taste in women," he observed.
Lex threw back the brandy. The liquid burned like bile down his throat. He tossed the manila folder onto the desktop and a picture of a pretty redhead, slightly plump now in her middle age, skittered out before Lionel. "It seems we all do, Dad."
Lionel fingered the picture indifferently before flipping it aside. He raised an eyebrow at Lex. "Really, son. I thought you've realized that connubial monogamy is an ideal, nothing more."
"I couldn't care less about who you fucked. Open the folder." When Lionel only affected an air of offended dignity, Lex yanked the picture of the young man from the folder himself.
"This is--"
Lex sneered. "My half-brother. Lucas Donlevy, nee Luthor. And please, Dad, don't act so surprised. The finance trial alone from the puppet account in Edge City to Grandville is so blatant that, personally, I'm insulted." He paused, then added derisively, "Not to mention how generous you were to set up your living trust for *any* heir to have ten percent of your Luthorcorp share."
"He's a little young to inherit, isn't he?" Lionel mused aloud, fingering his beard. "You were, ah, a bit...quicker than I expected."
Light from the window glinted off the picture's glossy surface. The young man's white smile gleamed from his flat two-dimension face. Pale eyes, thatch of dark hair, he looked too guileless for his years.
Control.
Lex looked away from the photo. "He'll be eighteen in only two years."
Control. That's what his father had always wanted. Lionel even sought to control when and how his son would stage the company coup. A necessary part of winning is anticipating your opponent's moves, Lex could hear his father say in his head. Or - in Lionel's case - fielding those moves for him.
"Yes." Lionel leaned back in the giant leather chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. "That does seem to cover everything."
"Why, Dad? Did you really think I would fall for it?" Lex leaned over the desk, intent on his father. "Why now, after *sixteen years* of hiding him?"
Lionel's expression was jovial. "Perhaps you are over-complicating things, son. Perhaps I only meant for you to reunite with your brother." Lionel smiled placidly, and continued, "After all, family is sacrosanct. Don't you agree?"
*
to be continued...
Working premise: Take-off of early season intro of Lucas, Lex's bastard half-brother.
[New York, present]
At Fifty-Seventh and Broadway, Coliseum Books is being torn down to make way for a Fleet Bank and a Daffy clothing store. Across the street, Lechter's Housewares has already been replaced by a Payless Shoe Source.
Change, Lex thinks to himself, and his black-gloved hand flexes against the steering wheel as he drives past all these.
The white buildings crawl past the car's tinted windows, for even at this late hour the streets of New York love traffic, and when the post-theatre crowd forces Lex to slow down even further and stop on West Fifty-Seventh, his eyes doesn't even flicker toward the vast vacant hulk that was the former Russian Tea Room. Yet still, a whisper of red red hair steals from beneath the cover of his memories, spilling like heavy silk into his thoughts.
Too many things stay the same.
* * *
[New York, 1990]
"Look up, Alexander." The soft hand pressed into his gently, "Look at the fish."
As soon as they entered the Russian Tea Room, he'd squeezed his eyes shut against the red glare. The bright, larger-than-life red was everywhere he turned, in the carpet, the chairs, the vest of the girl who took his mother's cashmere coat. He kept his eyes closed, clutching his mother's hand even as they stepped into the elevator and he felt the ground move up beneath him. The elevator door slid open with a muted ping and an air-conditioned wind rushed against his face.
"Alexander." He felt his mother crouch down beside him, felt her cool touch on his cheek. "Trust me, it's beautiful." He took a deep breath and smelled the faint perfume of her face powder.
Tentatively, he opened one eye.
A giant towered over him, shimmering in the flicker of candlelight. In it's belly swam six pink fish.
"Oh," he exhaled quietly.
Beside him, his mother gave a satisfied sigh as she stood back up. "The great Ursus, symbol of Russia," she said, her hand on his shoulder, and though he didn't look away from the tall bear-shaped aquarium, he could hear the smile in her voice. "It truly is beautiful."
"Your usual table, Miss Lichacev?"
Lex looked away from the fish swimming behind the gently curving glass. A man in a red vest stood politely behind them, gaze attentive on his mother. Lex turned curiously to his mother, mouth opening to ask about this unfamiliar name, but his mother took his hand firmly in a manner that brooked no questions. "Yes, please," she answered, smoothing down her dove-gray skirt, and briskly followed the server. His hand caught in hers, Lex followed as fast as his shorter legs would let him.
They sat down at a small private table. Lex arranged his legs carefully in front of the chair; he felt ungainly with his feet dangling above the floor, although the floor was much closer now. He'd been shooting up fast this past year, making his mother smile as she presented him with new clothes.
Lex glanced around the rest of the darkened room as his mother spoke briefly to the server. There were hardly any children his age, mostly adults in glittering jewels and dark clothing. He stopped and stared when he saw an actor from his favorite television series. Their drinks arrived, and his mother accepted the tea set from the server with a gracious nod. "Don't stare, sweetheart," she murmured, setting a teacup in front of him, "it's impolite."
She poured him a cup from the antique-looking teapot -- a samovar, his mother corrected -- and watched him as he gingerly took the first sip. He gasped a little as the draught went straight to his nose. "Spiced tea," she smiled. "If you like it we can have the cook prepare it for you at home." A comforting warmth was slowing spreading from his throat down to his belly. He nodded happily, hands curled around his teacup.
"We'll come here, just you and me," she smiled, eyes bright in a pale-powdered face, "alright, Alexander? It'll be our special place."
He smiled back instinctively. His mother was the most beautiful lady in the world, and there was almost nothing more in the world he wanted than to have her all to himself. But....
"Not even Mila?"
She raised an eyebrow, then leaned back in her chair and looked at him. "What do you know about 'Mila'?" she said carefully. Flustered and red-faced, he looked down at the table, knowing he had let slip something he wasn't supposed to know. "Alexander?"
"You go out with her," he mumbled, feeling the heat in his face. "Into the gardens, and you smile. With her." He looked up stubbornly then, almost accusingly. "You *like* her."
"I do like her, Alexander, but you will always be the first in my heart." The answer came so readily that Lex could almost believe his mother had been practicing just those lines.
He stared hard into his half-empty teacup, furiously blinking back the prickling heat behind his eyes. Luthors don't show vulnerability unless it's calculated to his benefit, he could hear his dad saying.
A short pause, then his mother asked softly, "Do you *want* her here with us?"
He bit down on his lips. He liked to see his mother happy, and one Saturday morning when he'd slipped out of bed early, he'd seen her in the garden with that woman. She was smiling, hand in hand, as she walked with the other woman though the rose arbor. 'Mila,' she'd called her. His dad hadn't made his mother smile like that for a long time.
But he wanted her just to himself so much. "Maybe...maybe someday." He didn't look up from his teacup.
"Alright, Alexander, whatever you want."
They were quiet for a time then. In the silence, while wordlessly sipping his spiced tea and still unwilling to meet his mother's eyes, he first noticed the music. Somewhere behind them, a single piano player was finishing the final piece to Igor Stravinsky's 'The Rite of Spring.' He knew this because his mother liked to play this record on the beautiful brass and mahogany gramophone she kept on her bedside as she brushed her hair in the morning. His dad was often absent -- business, sweetheart, his mother would explain distantly -- and Lex could sleep in his mother's large bed without worrying about his dad rousing him from his mother's side in the middle of the night.
"Listen, Alexander." Lex chanced a look at his mother. Her eyes were closed now, and she had a far-off look on her face as she began humming softly with the piano music. She stopped suddenly and, with her eyes still closed, she smiled, "It sounds unfinished because it is meant to be played by two people."
At that moment, more than anything in the world, Lex wanted to be for his mother that one other person.
She opened her eyes and looked directly at him, that strange smile still on her lips, and said:
"Congratulations Alexander, you're going to be a brother."
[The title of the last piece in that piano composition is 'Sacrificial Dance of the Chosen One (Danse Sacrale).']
* * *
Joseph the butler was ready at the entrance when the chauffer opened the car door.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Luthor." He nodded solemnly to Lex. "Master Lex."
Lillian helped Lex out of the car and handed her coat to the butler. "Any visitors for me, Joseph?"
Joseph closed the entrance doors behind them. "Miss Jenkins is waiting for you in the sitting room." He hesitated and added quietly, gaze carefully neutral. "She arrived as Mister Luthor left."
Lillian paused in mid-stride, and glanced sharply at the butler. "Thank you, Joseph, that'll be all."
The butler nodded, too circumspect to say more, and walked down the hall with her coat over his arm.
She smiled at her son standing beside her. "Alexander - sweetheart - go see if the cook has desert ready."
Lex's face lit up in delight, and he quickly vanished in the direction of the kitchen.
Lillian watched him disappear around a corner before she went directly to her bedroom, bypassing the sitting room entirely. She closed the double bedroom doors securely behind her. "Pamela," she greeted quietly as she turned to face the bed, her hands still behind her on the door handles. The curtains on the long bay windows had been drawn closed, and a woman lay on the large canopied bed, legs long and graceful in front of her, her face half in shadows. Lillian could see a pair of elegant high heels discarded on the floor beside the bed. "I wasn't expecting you today."
"You know, you needn't wear so much make-up, Liliya."
Lillian locked the doors behind her and walked briskly over to her dresser. She unpinned her earrings and set them down on the vanity top. "Leave it be, Mila," she said quietly and reached behind her back for the tie on the dress.
Pamela's hand was suddenly on Lillian's back. "Here, let me," she murmured, breath warm in Lillian's ear. Lillian hadn't even heard her move from the bed.
Lillian stood silently as the dress was efficiently unlaced. She shivered slightly at the sudden cold air against her bare back; Pamela's warm fingers brushed her exposed shoulder blades. "Mila," Lillian suddenly started, and caught the other woman's hand in hers. She heard Pamela's breath hitch. The heavy silk dress fell unheeded to the floor.
Lillian slowly kissed the top of each knuckle and felt the echo of Pamela's every shudder with Pamela's chest pressed against her bare back.
Pamela's uneven breath warmed the nape of Lillian's neck. One hand reached around to gently cup Lillian's left breast through the lace bra. "Where is Alexander?" she murmured, her lips next to Lillian's ear.
"He's in the kitchen."
"Did you tell him?" Pamela pressed a kiss on her shoulder. "Yes, of course you did," she immediately answered her own question. She ran a finger down Lillian's cheek, smearing the heavy peach-colored face powder. Her other hand moved hypnotically against Lillian's breast. "When were you going to tell me?"
Lillian said nothing, only shuddered into Pamela's deliberate caress.
"I remember when you were with Alexander. You were pale then too." Pamela's hand worked down across Lillian's abdomen, slipped past the satin panties, past the thatch of fine short hairs below. She stroked Lillian gently. "What are you planning, Liliya?"
Lillian gasped harshly, her arms drawn tight behind her around Pamela's neck. "He took my body from me," she hissed. "He took me like one of his common whores." Her fingers gripped the back of Pamela's shoulders. "And then the doctors confirmed the pregnancy."
"Liliya..."
"Flesh of his flesh, Mila," she laughed breathlessly. "As he would take mine, so I his."
Pamela's arms loosened around her. "Your child too," she whispered, dismayed.
"No!" With wild strength, Lillian broke from Pamela's embrace and pushed her back against the wall. "Alexander is mine. This," her hand splayed against her still flat stomach, "this is his."
She pressed her body against Pamela's with bruising strength, tangled her fingers in Pamela's long auburn hair. Her eyes were fevered with hatred. "He will know what it is to be violated," Lillian whispered against Pamela's lips. "The sins of the father will be paid."
* * *
[Metropolis, 2006]
He pushed past the study room doors, stopped short at who he saw, and immediately detoured to the bar. "Hello, Dad," he greeted, tucking the folder under his arm as he poured himself a glass of brandy. "Didn't expect you quite so soon." He made a mental note to sweep through his staff again for Lionel's spies.
Lionel leaned forward in the leather chair and touched a framed picture on the desk. "You have your mother's taste in women," he observed.
Lex threw back the brandy. The liquid burned like bile down his throat. He tossed the manila folder onto the desktop and a picture of a pretty redhead, slightly plump now in her middle age, skittered out before Lionel. "It seems we all do, Dad."
Lionel fingered the picture indifferently before flipping it aside. He raised an eyebrow at Lex. "Really, son. I thought you've realized that connubial monogamy is an ideal, nothing more."
"I couldn't care less about who you fucked. Open the folder." When Lionel only affected an air of offended dignity, Lex yanked the picture of the young man from the folder himself.
"This is--"
Lex sneered. "My half-brother. Lucas Donlevy, nee Luthor. And please, Dad, don't act so surprised. The finance trial alone from the puppet account in Edge City to Grandville is so blatant that, personally, I'm insulted." He paused, then added derisively, "Not to mention how generous you were to set up your living trust for *any* heir to have ten percent of your Luthorcorp share."
"He's a little young to inherit, isn't he?" Lionel mused aloud, fingering his beard. "You were, ah, a bit...quicker than I expected."
Light from the window glinted off the picture's glossy surface. The young man's white smile gleamed from his flat two-dimension face. Pale eyes, thatch of dark hair, he looked too guileless for his years.
Control.
Lex looked away from the photo. "He'll be eighteen in only two years."
Control. That's what his father had always wanted. Lionel even sought to control when and how his son would stage the company coup. A necessary part of winning is anticipating your opponent's moves, Lex could hear his father say in his head. Or - in Lionel's case - fielding those moves for him.
"Yes." Lionel leaned back in the giant leather chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. "That does seem to cover everything."
"Why, Dad? Did you really think I would fall for it?" Lex leaned over the desk, intent on his father. "Why now, after *sixteen years* of hiding him?"
Lionel's expression was jovial. "Perhaps you are over-complicating things, son. Perhaps I only meant for you to reunite with your brother." Lionel smiled placidly, and continued, "After all, family is sacrosanct. Don't you agree?"
*
to be continued...