Smallville fic: The Night Before
Jan. 15th, 2004 10:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fajrdrakoThis came from something ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
acampbell posted on January 11, "Caught in the Act", a slash-cliche fic that was a lot of fun.
In this fic, she has Lex say, "I thought maybe we should talk about last night, what happened." But her story never tells us what happened, and Clark himself doesn't know what Lex is talking about. I asked if I could write about the night before and Alison said: go for it.
So here's the result.
Title: The Night Before
Fandom: Smallville. Pairing: Clex
When Clark was worried about something - a history report, for example - he got a certain furrow in his forehead, a desperate look around the eyes. Lex did not like to see Clark worried. On the other hand, he loved that particular expression. It made him want to kiss the worry off Clark's face. It made him want to set Clark's world right with touches and caresses.
Since Lex was quite sure Clark was far from ready for that sort of thing, it was just as well that, whatever Clark's special abilities might be, they didn't involve telepathy.
Sometimes the worried look was there for no reason, and that worried Lex. He knew Clark took risks. He knew Clark had appointed himself guardian angel of Smallville, that he couldn't resist playing hero when people maddened by meteor rocks went on a rampage. Lex only wanted to make Clark's world good; Clark wanted to save everyone.
He hadn't started working on his history report early enough. Whatever it was he had been doing instead - farm chores, stories for the Torch, or secret midnight heroics that put that alarming look on his face - Lex didn't know. So it was time to get to work, and if there was one thing Lex knew how to do, it was work. They got down to it and Clark impressed him with his ability to listen, and concentrate, and learn.
It was getting late. Lex was explaining Franco-American relations in the eighteenth century at length, when he realized that the valiant expression in Clark's eyes was simple fatigue, not lack of comprehension and not even boredom. He broke off abruptly and said, "You're beat. Look, we've done enough. The teacher will be happy with the report the way it is."
"But I want it to be good." Marks were important to Clark. Lex knew now that life would have been easier if they'd been important to him in high school, too, but that was history now.
Lex wanted to say it was good already, but changed tactics before it got past his lips. "Well, you can at least be comfortable. We can go to my room and relax while we go over it one more time. Okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, but headed up the stairs to his bedroom.
Clark followed.
There was a fire in the hearth because it was February, and fresh-cut flowers on the mantle and by the bed because Lex liked them. They reminded him of his mother. The bed was turned back neatly. Lex kicked off his shoes, sat back on the bed, adjusting pillows behind him, his legs stretched in front of him. "Sit down, Clark. Make yourself comfortable."
Clark had no shyness or hesitation. He stretched on his chest across the bed, diagonal, his feet near Lex's as he flipped the pages of his report that they had typed on Lex's laptop and printed out for a rewrite. He caught a mistake and put a circle around it in red ink. He read a sentence aloud: "You think that sounds all right?"
"Absolutely," said Lex, with certainty. He hadn't heard a word. He was watching the motion of Clark's mouth; staring at the lines of his neck. He wanted to touch. He wanted to hold Clark, kiss him over and over, lick his skin, undress him, devour him....
He blinked. No. Think about history, dammit. He wanted to say: "Clark, stop tempting me." But the couldn't say it, and he knew nothing Clark could do would lessen the temptation.
Clark came to the end of the report and stretched his arms over his head, letting his hands fall loosely on the pillow. The red pen fell onto the floor and he didn't bother to retrieve it. "You really think it's okay?"
"It's better than okay. It's very good."
"Good enough for thirty per cent?" His voice was muffled because his head was between his arms. Lex was mesmerized by a curl of hair at the nape of his neck. A soft, dark curl that touched the skin ever so lightly at its tip.
"More than good enough for thirty per cent. Trust me on this."
Clark's reply was a throaty chuckle. "Sure, you can say that. You wrote half the thing."
"No, I didn't. I helped you learn it. I helped you organize the information. I didn't write it."
Clark's reply was a low mumble. Lex raised his hand and had it stretched out to rest on Clark's dark hair before he realized what he was doing and pulled his hand back. Clark didn't notice. Clark was asleep.
He must have been exhausted. Lex watched him, a slight smile curling his mouth. Clark turned his head a little, so his face was partly visible, beautiful, shadowed by his arm, fine-featured as a classical statue. Soft with sleep. His breathing made his large frame rise and fall, and the rhythm made Lex think of surf.
After a while Lex got up. He took off his clothes and put them in the laundry hamper. He showered in his private bathroom, and came back to the bedroom. Clark had neither woken nor moved. Naked, Lex returned to the bed. He sat on the side of it for a moment, watching Clark. He leaned forward so his face was close to Clark's shoulder, not quite touching. Clark smelled beautiful. He thought of Alexander the Great, who had smelled like flowers. Clark didn't smell like flowers, but like himself: a unique and enticing scent. The desire to taste the warm skin of his neck was intoxicating.
Lex moved away a little. It was one thing to enjoy a fantasy, quite another to anger a friend who had simply fallen asleep. He mustn't let his desire for Clark ruin everything. He had been patient this long, he could be patient longer. Clark trusted him, which was why he was here, and sleeping so peacefully. To betray that trust by molesting a sleeping friend would be....
Would be to act like his father. He wasn't going to do that.
He stretched out on the bed beside Clark. The fire, timed to go out, had already dimmed to embers. He smoothed the hair off Clark's forehead - yes, that was touching, but so light a touch it wouldn't wake Clark or disturb him. He leaned over and brushed his lips, ever so gently, along Clark's cheek.
Clark moved, his lips suddenly against Lex's, so that Lex had a sudden head-spinning taste of Clark. The pressure was fleeing. Clark murmured, "Lex?" and Lex jerked his head back before the open-mouthed kiss could become more, could get out of hand.
But Clark had not fully wakened. Would he even remember this in the morning? He looked peaceful - happy even. No furrow of worry.
"Go to sleep," whispered Lex, and Clark's smile deepened as he did so.
Lex turned out the light and crawled under the covers. He burrowed against Clark, enjoying the sense of his body heat. He felt Clark's peace fall over him with the soft, steady breathing. Someday, if things went well, he would have more than this. Someday Clark would be his.
For that hope, he could be patient.
- end -
acampbell posted on January 11, "Caught in the Act", a slash-cliche fic that was a lot of fun.In this fic, she has Lex say, "I thought maybe we should talk about last night, what happened." But her story never tells us what happened, and Clark himself doesn't know what Lex is talking about. I asked if I could write about the night before and Alison said: go for it.
So here's the result.
Title: The Night Before
Fandom: Smallville. Pairing: Clex
When Clark was worried about something - a history report, for example - he got a certain furrow in his forehead, a desperate look around the eyes. Lex did not like to see Clark worried. On the other hand, he loved that particular expression. It made him want to kiss the worry off Clark's face. It made him want to set Clark's world right with touches and caresses.
Since Lex was quite sure Clark was far from ready for that sort of thing, it was just as well that, whatever Clark's special abilities might be, they didn't involve telepathy.
Sometimes the worried look was there for no reason, and that worried Lex. He knew Clark took risks. He knew Clark had appointed himself guardian angel of Smallville, that he couldn't resist playing hero when people maddened by meteor rocks went on a rampage. Lex only wanted to make Clark's world good; Clark wanted to save everyone.
He hadn't started working on his history report early enough. Whatever it was he had been doing instead - farm chores, stories for the Torch, or secret midnight heroics that put that alarming look on his face - Lex didn't know. So it was time to get to work, and if there was one thing Lex knew how to do, it was work. They got down to it and Clark impressed him with his ability to listen, and concentrate, and learn.
It was getting late. Lex was explaining Franco-American relations in the eighteenth century at length, when he realized that the valiant expression in Clark's eyes was simple fatigue, not lack of comprehension and not even boredom. He broke off abruptly and said, "You're beat. Look, we've done enough. The teacher will be happy with the report the way it is."
"But I want it to be good." Marks were important to Clark. Lex knew now that life would have been easier if they'd been important to him in high school, too, but that was history now.
Lex wanted to say it was good already, but changed tactics before it got past his lips. "Well, you can at least be comfortable. We can go to my room and relax while we go over it one more time. Okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, but headed up the stairs to his bedroom.
Clark followed.
There was a fire in the hearth because it was February, and fresh-cut flowers on the mantle and by the bed because Lex liked them. They reminded him of his mother. The bed was turned back neatly. Lex kicked off his shoes, sat back on the bed, adjusting pillows behind him, his legs stretched in front of him. "Sit down, Clark. Make yourself comfortable."
Clark had no shyness or hesitation. He stretched on his chest across the bed, diagonal, his feet near Lex's as he flipped the pages of his report that they had typed on Lex's laptop and printed out for a rewrite. He caught a mistake and put a circle around it in red ink. He read a sentence aloud: "You think that sounds all right?"
"Absolutely," said Lex, with certainty. He hadn't heard a word. He was watching the motion of Clark's mouth; staring at the lines of his neck. He wanted to touch. He wanted to hold Clark, kiss him over and over, lick his skin, undress him, devour him....
He blinked. No. Think about history, dammit. He wanted to say: "Clark, stop tempting me." But the couldn't say it, and he knew nothing Clark could do would lessen the temptation.
Clark came to the end of the report and stretched his arms over his head, letting his hands fall loosely on the pillow. The red pen fell onto the floor and he didn't bother to retrieve it. "You really think it's okay?"
"It's better than okay. It's very good."
"Good enough for thirty per cent?" His voice was muffled because his head was between his arms. Lex was mesmerized by a curl of hair at the nape of his neck. A soft, dark curl that touched the skin ever so lightly at its tip.
"More than good enough for thirty per cent. Trust me on this."
Clark's reply was a throaty chuckle. "Sure, you can say that. You wrote half the thing."
"No, I didn't. I helped you learn it. I helped you organize the information. I didn't write it."
Clark's reply was a low mumble. Lex raised his hand and had it stretched out to rest on Clark's dark hair before he realized what he was doing and pulled his hand back. Clark didn't notice. Clark was asleep.
He must have been exhausted. Lex watched him, a slight smile curling his mouth. Clark turned his head a little, so his face was partly visible, beautiful, shadowed by his arm, fine-featured as a classical statue. Soft with sleep. His breathing made his large frame rise and fall, and the rhythm made Lex think of surf.
After a while Lex got up. He took off his clothes and put them in the laundry hamper. He showered in his private bathroom, and came back to the bedroom. Clark had neither woken nor moved. Naked, Lex returned to the bed. He sat on the side of it for a moment, watching Clark. He leaned forward so his face was close to Clark's shoulder, not quite touching. Clark smelled beautiful. He thought of Alexander the Great, who had smelled like flowers. Clark didn't smell like flowers, but like himself: a unique and enticing scent. The desire to taste the warm skin of his neck was intoxicating.
Lex moved away a little. It was one thing to enjoy a fantasy, quite another to anger a friend who had simply fallen asleep. He mustn't let his desire for Clark ruin everything. He had been patient this long, he could be patient longer. Clark trusted him, which was why he was here, and sleeping so peacefully. To betray that trust by molesting a sleeping friend would be....
Would be to act like his father. He wasn't going to do that.
He stretched out on the bed beside Clark. The fire, timed to go out, had already dimmed to embers. He smoothed the hair off Clark's forehead - yes, that was touching, but so light a touch it wouldn't wake Clark or disturb him. He leaned over and brushed his lips, ever so gently, along Clark's cheek.
Clark moved, his lips suddenly against Lex's, so that Lex had a sudden head-spinning taste of Clark. The pressure was fleeing. Clark murmured, "Lex?" and Lex jerked his head back before the open-mouthed kiss could become more, could get out of hand.
But Clark had not fully wakened. Would he even remember this in the morning? He looked peaceful - happy even. No furrow of worry.
"Go to sleep," whispered Lex, and Clark's smile deepened as he did so.
Lex turned out the light and crawled under the covers. He burrowed against Clark, enjoying the sense of his body heat. He felt Clark's peace fall over him with the soft, steady breathing. Someday, if things went well, he would have more than this. Someday Clark would be his.
For that hope, he could be patient.
- end -
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-01-15 08:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-15 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 03:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-15 09:23 pm (UTC)Okay.. now which one of you is writing the next piece? :)
no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 03:20 pm (UTC)So glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 11:32 am (UTC)Clark didn't smell like flowers, but like himself: a unique and enticing scent. The desire to taste the warm skin of
his neck was intoxicating.
That's gorgeous and exactly how I imagine Clark smelling, yes I spend an inordinate amount of time concerned with how Lex and Clark smell.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 12:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 03:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 01:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 03:22 pm (UTC)When I'm using Lex's point of view, I like to slip in references to Alexander the Great when I get the chance.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 02:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 03:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 04:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 04:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 05:31 pm (UTC)What a perfect fit to Alison’s story!
Lovely done! :-)
no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 07:05 pm (UTC)We should do this more often!
no subject
Date: 2004-01-16 07:11 pm (UTC)I'm very glad you liked it.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-17 05:09 pm (UTC)Hee!
Loved the story. Very much with the yummy UST. I thought the delicacy of the descriptions of Clark were excellent, too. Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2004-01-17 05:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-24 10:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-25 12:44 am (UTC)