Ficbit:: Snow Bullies (Clex, G)
Title: Snow Bullies
Category: ficlet
Rating: G
Word Count: 838 words
Spoilers: None
Notes: Written as comment!fic at twinsarein on her post here in two parts. Neither fluffy nor dark.
Summary: Clark and Lex and reconciliation.
They're in the middle of a cold war, though Clark can't remember what started it. Lex encroaching on his secrets or Clark lying to protect them... same old problems following them into a new year. Whatever the start, it's been going on for two weeks and they're no closer to resolving it than they were the last time they stalked away from each other.
It's especially rough this year, with Clark alienated once more by his peers for quitting in the middle of the football season. McCarty's broken ankle wasn't Clark's fault, but his abilities meant he heard the snap and his eyes zoned in in time to see it and... he couldn't do it, not on top of the fight he and Lex were having ~then~~. Because of the secrets, the lack of trust they're cultivating more than their friendship these days.
So the snow that impacts with the side of his head is packed with an extra bit of maliciousness and Clark's not surprised to turn and see his ex-teammates laughing a short distance away. It's not worth it to defend himself, even though the hard packing would have hurt someone else. But because Clark is looking at them, he sees the path of the snowballs that smack into their faces, sees Lex standing to his left, the third point in an isosceles triangle.
There's a stunned moment as the football players stand with snow on their faces, stunned by the retaliation as much as they are by the source of it. It's a scene that could get ugly very quickly and Clark moves toward Lex intending to help protect him, but the bullies reach down for snow instead of coming forward with fists, and that's... that's different.
Clark takes great care in shaping his balls; it wouldn't do to pack it into an ice ball that would cause serious damage. Still, he can make up for the extra time he takes and he times his rhythm to Lex's, ensuring their snowball quotient is one-for-one. The three jocks are a little slower, but make up for individual slowness with their extra person. All in all, it could be a fair fight.
Except Clark is an alien with superfast reflexes and Lex is a man who has a hard enough time admitting equality, let alone defeat. By the time the jocks call a tentative truce, they're covered with snow, Lex is still impeccable, if flushed, and Clark's taken just enough hits to slip under the radar of notice.
Side by side, their shoulders almost touching, Clark and Lex watch their opponents scramble into their waiting vehicle and make a rather subdued - shamed by their defeat - retreat. Lex has his hands tucked into the pocket of his coat, his head proudly high in a way that is incongruous with the red of his nose and the flush of his cheeks. His scalp his painfully white, though, and without thinking Clark reaches up to remove his own stocking cap and settle it over Lex's head without making any contact between their skin. That Lex stands still and lets him, not even tensing, says...
Clark doesn't know what it says, but he finds it settles some of the worry within him about the distance he was starting to believe was insurmountable. "Thanks," he says softly, shyly, letting his hands drop back to his sides.
Lex reaches out and captures one. Clark should pull away; his hands are too warm for the fact that he was just packing snow barehanded. But he can't find the energy or desire to pull away from contact with his friend and he hopes that if he needs deniability, that the layer between their skin, provided by Lex's gloves, will provide it.
He swallows at the feel of cold leather tracing over his knuckles, down the length of his index finger and back up, across the skin and veins on the back. "We should get you inside," Lex says in place of anything else he could say. His eyes are guarded and knowing when he looks up, but his hand is gentle as he brushes away a bit of snow that's fallen and formed a pile on Clark's shoulder. "Wouldn't want you to catch a cold."
This is the part where Clark agrees and deflects and hides, hides, hides. Except that he doesn't. He pulls his hand from Lex's grasp and brushes his knuckles against Lex's cheek, feeling the cold against his skin and then under his palm as he turns his hand and cups Lex's cheek.
He feels like his skin is shining brighter than the blush that heats his cheek, but it's nothing to the burn of Lex's gaze over him, recognizing exactly what Clark said without words, his admission and apology and affection. Probably his attraction, too, judging by the sudden quirking at the corner of Lex's mouth, the darkening of his eyes. "Let me take you home?" Lex asks, and Clark knows he's not referring to the farm. Clark nods anyway.
Category: ficlet
Rating: G
Word Count: 838 words
Spoilers: None
Notes: Written as comment!fic at twinsarein on her post here in two parts. Neither fluffy nor dark.
Summary: Clark and Lex and reconciliation.
They're in the middle of a cold war, though Clark can't remember what started it. Lex encroaching on his secrets or Clark lying to protect them... same old problems following them into a new year. Whatever the start, it's been going on for two weeks and they're no closer to resolving it than they were the last time they stalked away from each other.
It's especially rough this year, with Clark alienated once more by his peers for quitting in the middle of the football season. McCarty's broken ankle wasn't Clark's fault, but his abilities meant he heard the snap and his eyes zoned in in time to see it and... he couldn't do it, not on top of the fight he and Lex were having ~then~~. Because of the secrets, the lack of trust they're cultivating more than their friendship these days.
So the snow that impacts with the side of his head is packed with an extra bit of maliciousness and Clark's not surprised to turn and see his ex-teammates laughing a short distance away. It's not worth it to defend himself, even though the hard packing would have hurt someone else. But because Clark is looking at them, he sees the path of the snowballs that smack into their faces, sees Lex standing to his left, the third point in an isosceles triangle.
There's a stunned moment as the football players stand with snow on their faces, stunned by the retaliation as much as they are by the source of it. It's a scene that could get ugly very quickly and Clark moves toward Lex intending to help protect him, but the bullies reach down for snow instead of coming forward with fists, and that's... that's different.
Clark takes great care in shaping his balls; it wouldn't do to pack it into an ice ball that would cause serious damage. Still, he can make up for the extra time he takes and he times his rhythm to Lex's, ensuring their snowball quotient is one-for-one. The three jocks are a little slower, but make up for individual slowness with their extra person. All in all, it could be a fair fight.
Except Clark is an alien with superfast reflexes and Lex is a man who has a hard enough time admitting equality, let alone defeat. By the time the jocks call a tentative truce, they're covered with snow, Lex is still impeccable, if flushed, and Clark's taken just enough hits to slip under the radar of notice.
Side by side, their shoulders almost touching, Clark and Lex watch their opponents scramble into their waiting vehicle and make a rather subdued - shamed by their defeat - retreat. Lex has his hands tucked into the pocket of his coat, his head proudly high in a way that is incongruous with the red of his nose and the flush of his cheeks. His scalp his painfully white, though, and without thinking Clark reaches up to remove his own stocking cap and settle it over Lex's head without making any contact between their skin. That Lex stands still and lets him, not even tensing, says...
Clark doesn't know what it says, but he finds it settles some of the worry within him about the distance he was starting to believe was insurmountable. "Thanks," he says softly, shyly, letting his hands drop back to his sides.
Lex reaches out and captures one. Clark should pull away; his hands are too warm for the fact that he was just packing snow barehanded. But he can't find the energy or desire to pull away from contact with his friend and he hopes that if he needs deniability, that the layer between their skin, provided by Lex's gloves, will provide it.
He swallows at the feel of cold leather tracing over his knuckles, down the length of his index finger and back up, across the skin and veins on the back. "We should get you inside," Lex says in place of anything else he could say. His eyes are guarded and knowing when he looks up, but his hand is gentle as he brushes away a bit of snow that's fallen and formed a pile on Clark's shoulder. "Wouldn't want you to catch a cold."
This is the part where Clark agrees and deflects and hides, hides, hides. Except that he doesn't. He pulls his hand from Lex's grasp and brushes his knuckles against Lex's cheek, feeling the cold against his skin and then under his palm as he turns his hand and cups Lex's cheek.
He feels like his skin is shining brighter than the blush that heats his cheek, but it's nothing to the burn of Lex's gaze over him, recognizing exactly what Clark said without words, his admission and apology and affection. Probably his attraction, too, judging by the sudden quirking at the corner of Lex's mouth, the darkening of his eyes. "Let me take you home?" Lex asks, and Clark knows he's not referring to the farm. Clark nods anyway.