Thanksgiving
Pairing: Clex
Genre: Pre-slash
Rating: PG
Word Count: 100x5
Summary: Everyone has something to be thankful for.
A/N: written for sv100 prompt: Thanksgiving.
The Kent farmhouse is overbrimming with warmth and delicious smells; Martha’s reputation as a cook is not exaggerated. All morning Clark and Jonathan are shooed from the kitchen, her brandished spoons taken none too seriously. The football, however, is another story.
The only chill to enter the scene comes when Clark opens the door to Lex’s knock. Clark is thrilled he actually showed; Jonathan’s expression is icier than a burst of November wind.
“Lex,” Martha welcomes him. “We’re just getting ready to sit down.”
They join hands for grace. Then Martha says:
“We should all say something we’re thankful for.”
I.
Martha is thankful for light. The sun falling warm on the crops brings food to her table; she learned long ago not to mind that it also meant dirt, tracked on heavy workboots through her kitchen. In that room, the light is diffuse, softened by the muslin curtains and gentle on the careworn hands that cup her face.
And Clark: her son, her sun, the bright center of her heart. She smiles now to see him focused elsewhere, his own face alight with tender love.
She gives Lex’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m thankful for a warm and happy home.”
II.
Jonathan is thankful for his shotgun.
Not that he wants to use it, or even hopes to. But the right to bear arms is always there in the back of his mind, a contingency of last resort.
He peers at Lex through eyes half-closed in skepticism. A Luthor at his table? It’s incongruous and wrong. (He deliberately pushes aside the memory of the last time it happened. That’s not hypocrisy; it’s caution.)
So far Lex has met his objections with displays, claims of autonomy and choice.
He’ll keep the shotgun handy, just in case.
“I’m thankful,” he growls, “for freedom.”
III.
Clark is thankful for the word “yes.” He hears it so seldom.
He doesn’t blame his parents; he understands, or tries to. But it’s frustrating all the same, to know he’s loved and still always be denied.
He wasn’t really expecting a “yes” from Lex, either, when he’d invited him to Thanksgiving dinner. He’d been delighted to be wrong. And that made him realize: he too says “no” too often.
He knows what Lex wants, the offer he longs to make.
He wants him to ask now. He knows how he’ll answer.
“I’m thankful,” he smiles, suddenly shy, “for friends.”
IV.
Lex is thankful that his father is such a total bastard.
Of course there is the obvious: without Lionel, Lex would never have come to Smallville. Were he any different than he is, Lex might have Martha’s happy home, Jonathan’s freedom.
But it’s more than Lionel’s tender mercies Lex is grateful for tonight. It’s - forgive him - the low expectations.
Clark talks of friendship, looks at him with wonder. God, Lex wants him.
He wants them all. To prove to them that he deserves them.
He weighs Clark’s hand in his own, finds his voice. “I’m thankful for hope.”
Genre: Pre-slash
Rating: PG
Word Count: 100x5
Summary: Everyone has something to be thankful for.
A/N: written for sv100 prompt: Thanksgiving.
The Kent farmhouse is overbrimming with warmth and delicious smells; Martha’s reputation as a cook is not exaggerated. All morning Clark and Jonathan are shooed from the kitchen, her brandished spoons taken none too seriously. The football, however, is another story.
The only chill to enter the scene comes when Clark opens the door to Lex’s knock. Clark is thrilled he actually showed; Jonathan’s expression is icier than a burst of November wind.
“Lex,” Martha welcomes him. “We’re just getting ready to sit down.”
They join hands for grace. Then Martha says:
“We should all say something we’re thankful for.”
I.
Martha is thankful for light. The sun falling warm on the crops brings food to her table; she learned long ago not to mind that it also meant dirt, tracked on heavy workboots through her kitchen. In that room, the light is diffuse, softened by the muslin curtains and gentle on the careworn hands that cup her face.
And Clark: her son, her sun, the bright center of her heart. She smiles now to see him focused elsewhere, his own face alight with tender love.
She gives Lex’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m thankful for a warm and happy home.”
II.
Jonathan is thankful for his shotgun.
Not that he wants to use it, or even hopes to. But the right to bear arms is always there in the back of his mind, a contingency of last resort.
He peers at Lex through eyes half-closed in skepticism. A Luthor at his table? It’s incongruous and wrong. (He deliberately pushes aside the memory of the last time it happened. That’s not hypocrisy; it’s caution.)
So far Lex has met his objections with displays, claims of autonomy and choice.
He’ll keep the shotgun handy, just in case.
“I’m thankful,” he growls, “for freedom.”
III.
Clark is thankful for the word “yes.” He hears it so seldom.
He doesn’t blame his parents; he understands, or tries to. But it’s frustrating all the same, to know he’s loved and still always be denied.
He wasn’t really expecting a “yes” from Lex, either, when he’d invited him to Thanksgiving dinner. He’d been delighted to be wrong. And that made him realize: he too says “no” too often.
He knows what Lex wants, the offer he longs to make.
He wants him to ask now. He knows how he’ll answer.
“I’m thankful,” he smiles, suddenly shy, “for friends.”
IV.
Lex is thankful that his father is such a total bastard.
Of course there is the obvious: without Lionel, Lex would never have come to Smallville. Were he any different than he is, Lex might have Martha’s happy home, Jonathan’s freedom.
But it’s more than Lionel’s tender mercies Lex is grateful for tonight. It’s - forgive him - the low expectations.
Clark talks of friendship, looks at him with wonder. God, Lex wants him.
He wants them all. To prove to them that he deserves them.
He weighs Clark’s hand in his own, finds his voice. “I’m thankful for hope.”