Fic: Burning Away the Past | DCU/Smallville | Clark/Lex | R | 1/3
Title: Burning Away the Past - Part 1
Fandom: DCU/Smallville
Pairing: Clark Kent/Lex Luthor (Yes, you read that right. I'm trying something new! :p)
Rating: R - for language (Part 2 *might* go NC-17 ^_~)
Word Count: 1,475
Prompt: For bradygirl_12's 2008 DCU Fic/Art Mood Ring Challenge - Haunted
Summary: After yet another fight, Lex and Clark only want the cycle of hatred and spite to end.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Future-fic! Maybe 5 years or so. Also somewhat AU from the last season or so. And yes, this is late again, but I produce results, baby! ^_~
Burning Away the Past - Part 1
Standing amidst the ruins of what was once a spotless, gleaming office, Lex poured himself a glass of scotch. Not that it would do a damn thing to repair the damage - of so many things, not all of which were physical - but it might at least begin to dull the edges enough for him to forget.
To forget just how many times they'd done this. Forget the lies, the hate, the bitterness. Maybe, if he drank enough...
But that never really helped. Not where it counted. All he usually got for his efforts was an unpleasant hangover and the bill for repairing his office. Or his mansion. Or another hi-tech lab in an underground bunker/abandoned warehouse/disused hangar/non-existent floor of a high-rise. Same story, different day.
And yet, he lifted the glass to his lips anyway, taking a long swallow of the smooth-burning liquid. With instant fire in his veins - as he was well accustomed - he watched his enemy struggle to rise from the debris-strewn floor, dust billowing away around him, blood seeping from a handful of gashes that looked like they'd need medical attention, if Lex didn't know any better.
"Are you finished?" he asked bitterly as the man in torn blue tights and an equally ripped red cape stood at last, regarding him with narrowed eyes that swam with hate and a fire of their own. Superman was no threat, not really, and certainly not where it counted, so Lex didn't see any reason not to end this with a little civility. "I could go again, but I'm afraid neither my office nor you could take much more." He didn't need to draw the hero's attention back to the seemingly lit-up pieces of meteor rock that had at one time been strategically placed in lead-lined cases around the room, but his eyes couldn't resist landing on a piece lying on the floor between them.
Superman's gaze followed, and he spat blood to his side and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. "Why?"
The question confused Lex; it wasn't a part of their usual repartee. "Why what?" he asked, head slightly inclined.
"Why do we keep doing this? Over and over. You hatch a new scheme, I find out about it, we fight. It's like we've been circling each other for years."
"We have been circling each other for years," Lex spat. A dozen, at least... But of course, Clark didn't know just how much Lex realized.
The other man's eyes seemed to go distant, and he said with a much smaller voice than the billionaire was used to, "Maybe... but it needs to stop, Luthor."
At the use of his family name, Lex slammed the empty glass back down on the tray and turned away to gaze out over the glittering skyline of a city that didn't know her hero was currently bleeding and somewhat broken. Crossing his arms over his chest, he replied equally, "You know, there was a time that you used to call me Lex, and your voice wasn't dripping with venom. A time when you didn't hate me."
Behind him, he could feel the tense surprise, could practically hear the other man's eyes widening as he likely wondered what Lex knew.
"There was a time when you didn't hate me, either." The response was so full of barely restrained grief that Lex thought they both might choke on it.
Suddenly defensive over the remark, he didn't hesitate to give it right back. "I never wanted to hate you. Never. You didn't exactly give me much choice." Haunted by memories of the deceptions, the manipulations, the obsession he couldn't shake over the young man he once thought he loved, Lex closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Could they have ever trusted one another? All these years later, and he still didn't know.
"I'm sorry, Lex."
For a moment, he wasn't sure he'd heard it, but he could feel it, it was there, hanging in the air between them, as real and as painful as the piece of kryptonite lying on the floor. I'm sorry, Lex.
"I don't want to do this anymore," Clark said from behind him. "I can't."
Despite himself, Lex couldn't stop the ache in his chest as he bowed his head slightly. "I can't, either, Clark."
This time the gasp was audible, and Lex turned to gauge the other man's shock. Eyes wide with full realization and the pain of so many years spent at each other's throats, Clark shook his head weakly. "Wha - how?"
Lex took a moment to consider his answer. He wasn't sure he could pin it to one particular moment... "I always knew you were different, it only took about a decade to put it together."
Clark shook his head again, seemingly stunned, and the mussed remnants of a curl wavered slightly over his forehead. "Why didn't you say anything? You... could have ruined me! Why not?"
"What good would that have done?" Lex smirked, starting to feel the tension drain away as the fire in his veins finally reached his toes and tingled his scalp. Hangover in the morning, definitely, at this rate.
"None, I guess."
"See?" A little satisfied with himself, he poured another glass of scotch and downed it in one go, then sat the glass back on the tray gently. "So, can we be finished with this, already? Because I'm afraid I don't have the energy for it anymore."
A weak nod from Clark, and without warning, his knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor, groaning and clutching his side, where a particularly nasty gash began to bleed with renewed fervor.
Lex was beside him in an instant, tucking that damned piece of kryptonite back into its case and tossing it across the room. Gently, he attended to Clark, ruefully wishing they hadn't done this as he cradled Clark's head in one hand and inspected the wound with the other. "Let go, lemme see," he insisted, prying Clark's hand away from the source of all the blood. So much blood. "I won't hurt you. I promise."
If he'd been completely sober, he might have realized that he'd never once said those words to Clark, but now he was too focused on the wounds that had come about at his own hands.
"We should get you to a hospital," he suggested, his vision awash with the thick scarlet soaking onto the blue and red uniform. "This is bad."
"No," Clark managed to croak out, looking up at him with once again widened eyes. "Just... the kryptonite. Please..."
Mentally shaking himself, Lex laid Clark on the floor, shoving away the splintered remains of a table and grabbing the cushion from a nearby chair to lay his head on. Seven pieces of kryptonite. He'd had seven. Had used them all. Where were they?
Spotting three on his first visual sweep of the room, he lunged for each in turn and shoved them into one of the larger cases. Three more, since the first was already taken care of.
He heard Clark's harsh breathing improve almost at once as the pieces were shut away, their lethal radiation cut off, and his own heart slowed from its manic racing. With any luck, the bleeding had slowed as well.
Another piece found and discarded. Another.
One more... where the fuck was it!?
Tearing the room apart for the second time in an hour, Lex sweated and swore, promising he'd find it, destroy it, destroy them all, just to be finished, just to end this. He thought maybe he'd sworn to God - or several of a number of Gods - somewhere in there, but he didn't care, all he wanted was to find that last piece.
But try as he might, he couldn't find it. The office was even more trashed than he'd thought possible, and still Clark lay on the floor, breathing somewhat shallowly. Dammit, he couldn't find it!
In the midst of his rage at himself a thought occurred to him. His penthouse was upstairs. If he could get Clark up the three flights, away from the radiation, the former farm-boy would be fine. He'd heal.
Mentally damning the scotch for making him such a stupid drunk, Lex abandoned his search. "Come on," he said, carefully hauling Clark up from the floor. "Upstairs," he explained simply, voice gruff from the alcohol and shame. With one of the hero's arms slung over his shoulder, he guided him toward the private elevator.
Not protesting, Clark went with him, eyes slipping shut as even the closing of the elevator doors provided relief.
Damning himself now, Lex hit the intercom button in the car. "Mercy, I need the contents of my office disposed of," he ordered curtly.
When his personal assistant responded, her voice was sharp. "Clean sweep?"
"Burn it all."
Beside him, Clark went slack in his arms, slipping into unconsciousness.
Lex held him tighter, wishing the past could be burned away with the kryptonite.
* * * * *
Part 2
Fandom: DCU/Smallville
Pairing: Clark Kent/Lex Luthor (Yes, you read that right. I'm trying something new! :p)
Rating: R - for language (Part 2 *might* go NC-17 ^_~)
Word Count: 1,475
Prompt: For bradygirl_12's 2008 DCU Fic/Art Mood Ring Challenge - Haunted
Summary: After yet another fight, Lex and Clark only want the cycle of hatred and spite to end.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: Future-fic! Maybe 5 years or so. Also somewhat AU from the last season or so. And yes, this is late again, but I produce results, baby! ^_~
Burning Away the Past - Part 1
Standing amidst the ruins of what was once a spotless, gleaming office, Lex poured himself a glass of scotch. Not that it would do a damn thing to repair the damage - of so many things, not all of which were physical - but it might at least begin to dull the edges enough for him to forget.
To forget just how many times they'd done this. Forget the lies, the hate, the bitterness. Maybe, if he drank enough...
But that never really helped. Not where it counted. All he usually got for his efforts was an unpleasant hangover and the bill for repairing his office. Or his mansion. Or another hi-tech lab in an underground bunker/abandoned warehouse/disused hangar/non-existent floor of a high-rise. Same story, different day.
And yet, he lifted the glass to his lips anyway, taking a long swallow of the smooth-burning liquid. With instant fire in his veins - as he was well accustomed - he watched his enemy struggle to rise from the debris-strewn floor, dust billowing away around him, blood seeping from a handful of gashes that looked like they'd need medical attention, if Lex didn't know any better.
"Are you finished?" he asked bitterly as the man in torn blue tights and an equally ripped red cape stood at last, regarding him with narrowed eyes that swam with hate and a fire of their own. Superman was no threat, not really, and certainly not where it counted, so Lex didn't see any reason not to end this with a little civility. "I could go again, but I'm afraid neither my office nor you could take much more." He didn't need to draw the hero's attention back to the seemingly lit-up pieces of meteor rock that had at one time been strategically placed in lead-lined cases around the room, but his eyes couldn't resist landing on a piece lying on the floor between them.
Superman's gaze followed, and he spat blood to his side and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. "Why?"
The question confused Lex; it wasn't a part of their usual repartee. "Why what?" he asked, head slightly inclined.
"Why do we keep doing this? Over and over. You hatch a new scheme, I find out about it, we fight. It's like we've been circling each other for years."
"We have been circling each other for years," Lex spat. A dozen, at least... But of course, Clark didn't know just how much Lex realized.
The other man's eyes seemed to go distant, and he said with a much smaller voice than the billionaire was used to, "Maybe... but it needs to stop, Luthor."
At the use of his family name, Lex slammed the empty glass back down on the tray and turned away to gaze out over the glittering skyline of a city that didn't know her hero was currently bleeding and somewhat broken. Crossing his arms over his chest, he replied equally, "You know, there was a time that you used to call me Lex, and your voice wasn't dripping with venom. A time when you didn't hate me."
Behind him, he could feel the tense surprise, could practically hear the other man's eyes widening as he likely wondered what Lex knew.
"There was a time when you didn't hate me, either." The response was so full of barely restrained grief that Lex thought they both might choke on it.
Suddenly defensive over the remark, he didn't hesitate to give it right back. "I never wanted to hate you. Never. You didn't exactly give me much choice." Haunted by memories of the deceptions, the manipulations, the obsession he couldn't shake over the young man he once thought he loved, Lex closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Could they have ever trusted one another? All these years later, and he still didn't know.
"I'm sorry, Lex."
For a moment, he wasn't sure he'd heard it, but he could feel it, it was there, hanging in the air between them, as real and as painful as the piece of kryptonite lying on the floor. I'm sorry, Lex.
"I don't want to do this anymore," Clark said from behind him. "I can't."
Despite himself, Lex couldn't stop the ache in his chest as he bowed his head slightly. "I can't, either, Clark."
This time the gasp was audible, and Lex turned to gauge the other man's shock. Eyes wide with full realization and the pain of so many years spent at each other's throats, Clark shook his head weakly. "Wha - how?"
Lex took a moment to consider his answer. He wasn't sure he could pin it to one particular moment... "I always knew you were different, it only took about a decade to put it together."
Clark shook his head again, seemingly stunned, and the mussed remnants of a curl wavered slightly over his forehead. "Why didn't you say anything? You... could have ruined me! Why not?"
"What good would that have done?" Lex smirked, starting to feel the tension drain away as the fire in his veins finally reached his toes and tingled his scalp. Hangover in the morning, definitely, at this rate.
"None, I guess."
"See?" A little satisfied with himself, he poured another glass of scotch and downed it in one go, then sat the glass back on the tray gently. "So, can we be finished with this, already? Because I'm afraid I don't have the energy for it anymore."
A weak nod from Clark, and without warning, his knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor, groaning and clutching his side, where a particularly nasty gash began to bleed with renewed fervor.
Lex was beside him in an instant, tucking that damned piece of kryptonite back into its case and tossing it across the room. Gently, he attended to Clark, ruefully wishing they hadn't done this as he cradled Clark's head in one hand and inspected the wound with the other. "Let go, lemme see," he insisted, prying Clark's hand away from the source of all the blood. So much blood. "I won't hurt you. I promise."
If he'd been completely sober, he might have realized that he'd never once said those words to Clark, but now he was too focused on the wounds that had come about at his own hands.
"We should get you to a hospital," he suggested, his vision awash with the thick scarlet soaking onto the blue and red uniform. "This is bad."
"No," Clark managed to croak out, looking up at him with once again widened eyes. "Just... the kryptonite. Please..."
Mentally shaking himself, Lex laid Clark on the floor, shoving away the splintered remains of a table and grabbing the cushion from a nearby chair to lay his head on. Seven pieces of kryptonite. He'd had seven. Had used them all. Where were they?
Spotting three on his first visual sweep of the room, he lunged for each in turn and shoved them into one of the larger cases. Three more, since the first was already taken care of.
He heard Clark's harsh breathing improve almost at once as the pieces were shut away, their lethal radiation cut off, and his own heart slowed from its manic racing. With any luck, the bleeding had slowed as well.
Another piece found and discarded. Another.
One more... where the fuck was it!?
Tearing the room apart for the second time in an hour, Lex sweated and swore, promising he'd find it, destroy it, destroy them all, just to be finished, just to end this. He thought maybe he'd sworn to God - or several of a number of Gods - somewhere in there, but he didn't care, all he wanted was to find that last piece.
But try as he might, he couldn't find it. The office was even more trashed than he'd thought possible, and still Clark lay on the floor, breathing somewhat shallowly. Dammit, he couldn't find it!
In the midst of his rage at himself a thought occurred to him. His penthouse was upstairs. If he could get Clark up the three flights, away from the radiation, the former farm-boy would be fine. He'd heal.
Mentally damning the scotch for making him such a stupid drunk, Lex abandoned his search. "Come on," he said, carefully hauling Clark up from the floor. "Upstairs," he explained simply, voice gruff from the alcohol and shame. With one of the hero's arms slung over his shoulder, he guided him toward the private elevator.
Not protesting, Clark went with him, eyes slipping shut as even the closing of the elevator doors provided relief.
Damning himself now, Lex hit the intercom button in the car. "Mercy, I need the contents of my office disposed of," he ordered curtly.
When his personal assistant responded, her voice was sharp. "Clean sweep?"
"Burn it all."
Beside him, Clark went slack in his arms, slipping into unconsciousness.
Lex held him tighter, wishing the past could be burned away with the kryptonite.
* * * * *
Part 2