Brothers And Heroes part 32
2/3/06 09:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxy Previous parts of this story are here, waiting to be read.
A little bit more of my dear little story, I love it so. Really, I do. *pats it's little head as if it weren't trying to pull my heart out through my nose*
Lex always remembered that time--from the moment he met Vic, until the moment he thought he’d lost everything--as the time that his life really changed, more than the death of his mother, more than the flaming wreckage of his relationship with his father--in a single moment everything changed. From that one point on it seemed his life drifted steadily downward.
He got a letter from Vic a month into the summer. It was a pleasant surprise, and something to be enjoyed, so he got a glass of lemonade and snagged a sandwich from Aunt Martha before heading out to the porch to read it. In the distance he could see a tiny crouching figure near the test beds by the green houses. Clark probably, doing something mysterious and Clark-like no doubt. He chuckled and the boy’s head came up, as though he’d heard him. For one moment he was sure of it, before common sense took over. Clark might be incredibly strong and fast and heal even faster than he did, but he couldn’t have…super hearing. That was just a little too science fiction-y, even for him. He snorted and settled in to the porch swing and prepared himself for some of Vic’s typically skewed views on life. Always fascinating, that’s what Vic’s letters were, sometimes disconcerting but never ever boring. He slit open the expensive envelope, a whiff of perfume floated out as he opened the single sheet of folded paper. He was mildly surprised by that, she tended to write page after page…she could go on for pages and pages in absolute ecstasy over a pair of shoes….
Dear Lex,
I’m in Italy with my mother and Richard, part of the tiresome whirlwind “Let’s Keep Victoria’s Pants Up European Tour.” Wonder what will happen first, Pat getting sick of me, or them running out of countries? In the mean time, I’m not allowed to meet with or talk to any of my friends. Such assholes! (laughing)
Oh well. Give them a month or two and they’ll be frantic to get rid of me. (raspberries) Pat did take time out from shopping to tell me some news, something she heard from a friend of a friend of the Washburns. If it were at all possible, I’d call instead of telling you this way. It’s lousy news to give you in a letter. Harry killed himself. I’m so very sorry. I know you cared for him.
Really sorry.
Vic
Lex let the letter drop from his fingers. “Harry’s dead?” It wasn’t possible. “He’s not dead…” There was no way Harry could be dead. He was tough and brave, he’d been through worse than this, they both had. Harry wasn’t a crybaby, he didn’t knuckle under, he didn’t give up--he’d never do anything like that; Harry was a survivor, just like he was.
She was lying.
Lex got up and walked over to the porch rail, seeing nothing at all.
Lying.
Harry was alive, in Connecticut, waiting for his parents to relent, to let him go so he could come to him. He leaned his head against one of the porch posts, swinging one foot in time to a song that was stuck in his head and wouldn’t come out.
He was beginning to drift a little; it was warm and quiet, the distant drone of bees almost hypnotic, soothing…he closed his eyes and everything disappeared in a haze of red and he waited to slow down….
“Lex,” Aunt Martha called. “Phone for you.” He jumped. Where had he been for the last few minutes?
He roused himself, unkinked his neck and strolled into the kitchen, feeling muzzy and disconnected.
“It’s your father…do you want to…” she held the phone out a little, her eyebrow cocked in question and he nodded yes.
He took the phone and heard his father’s voice; bright, cheerful and ready to slice into him like a clean new scalpel.
“Lex. I’m afraid I have very sad news, son—“Lex stood frozen, unfeeling as a stone throughout his dad’s description, at length and with relish, of the details of Harry’s death.
He had no memory of hanging up, but the phone was on its hook on the wall and Aunt Martha was looking at him strangely. He shrugged. “Dad. You know how he can be when he’s in a mood,” and he walked up the stairs to his room.
Inside, he sat on his bed and closed his eyes.
He cried--it felt like forever—as quietly as he could into his pillow. Harry didn’t deserve that, he was a good person, he didn’t deserve to die. He shouldn’t have felt like that was his only way out—he shouldn’t have left him alone…he was shaking like he had a fever, he felt too hot and a little sick. He was almost grateful when he heard his door open, the hinges squeaked once and footsteps pattered across the room. The bed sank under weight and he expected Aunt Martha to ask him what was wrong…Clark said, “scoot over, don’t say anything, just scoot over” and he did.
Clark climbed into the bed behind him, wrapped his arms around him and pulled him tight against his chest. Lex was furiously embarrassed when he broke into tears again, he was choking and Clark was rocking him, wrapped around him, arms, legs, head pressed to his back and telling him over and over, I know, I know, I know.
Lex groaned, “This is it. I swear to god, I’m never ever going to cry again. Never.”
“That’s stupid, Lex, when you’re sad, you just have to. You can’t not cry—your...your…Harry is gone and you have to mourn for that.”
“Clark, I’m sorry.” Lex had no idea why he was apologizing to Clark, in his head it felt like he was apologizing to Harry. Clark felt like a warm blanket around him, he was so cold that Clark felt hotter than normal. It felt good—and he felt horrible for enjoying anything about this life.
A knock at the door brought Aunt Martha in, carrying a tray holding a bowl of soup, as well as few crackers and a tall glass of juice. “Lex, do you mind if I come in?”
“’Course not Aunt Martha please come in,” he mumbled, stringing the words together. He was a little worried that she might not like Clark laying in bed with him and hated himself for even thinking that way.
In fact, she seemed not to notice that Clark was wrapped around him like a shawl. She set the tray on the nightstand, pulled the blanket folded at the end of his bed up over their legs and pulled the curtains to, making the room comfortably dim. Clark rolled him back from the edge of the bed, settled him against his chest again and Martha sat. She laid her soft cool hand on his too hot head. “I know what happened sweetie. I’m so, so sorry for you. I wish I could say something to make this easier. Don’t be afraid to let it out, we all understand.” He doubted that, but he nodded, his eyes gritty and dry and knowing he was done. Crying just made it worse and made him feel like—
He heard Martha from a million miles away. “Stay with him Clark, and get me if he needs me, even if I’m in bed, okay?”
“Yes, Mom.”
He could feel him say it, a rumble that rolled against his back. Clark was going to be a very serious man when he grew up, he thought, an odd kind of thought that tumbled through his brain before falling away into the cottony dark.
*******
Bruce was washed and dressed and heading for the stairs, more or less ready to start the day, when he saw Clark come walking out of Lex’s room, hair sleep-matted and yawning wide, his flannel PJ bottoms twisted around his waist and legs. Bruce looked harder—those were his darn pajama bottoms, the thief!
“Clark!”
Clark looked his way, obviously still a little out of it. “Hunh? Wha?” He yawned again and scratched heartily at his ribs, rucking his tee-shirt this way and that
“What were you doing in Lex’s room? Where you in there all night?” Ma told him what had happened but even though he felt terrible for Lex, Harry was an abstract. Of course his death was a bad thing--but he didn’t *know* it was a bad thing. He felt guilty that he didn’t share Lex’s sorrow—and a little angry that Clark had reached out first.
“Lex is in trouble, he’s messed up. I just tied to help. Someone needed to be there with him.”
Bruce stared at Clark and felt the warmth of a blush on his cheeks, anger. This kid was trying to tell him he’d failed Lex? That wasn’t true. So what, Clark had been there last night…it didn’t matter, Bruce decided. He’d helped Lex through plenty; Lex knew he could count on him, better than some little kid who barely knew…oh.
He was jealous of his little brother. Geez—he felt like the world’s biggest creep. But…he was still jealous, still a little angry, and maybe a little guilty.
Clark’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him, and Bruce had the feeling something just woke up in Clark, something not good. He changed the subject quickly. “Hey squirt, let’s get breakfast, okay? I can make you pancakes if you want.”
Clark’s face brightened instantly and Bruce was relieved. The look of suspicion was gone. Clark looked at him like he was the best thing since sliced cheese and this look Bruce knew well. “Come on kid. You can crack the eggs if you promise not to crush them and I’ll do the rest.”
He blushed a little and tried not to look too pleased. “Come on Bruce, stop treating me like a little kid—I’m a teenager now, you remember?”
“Yes, Clark for god’s sake I remember—how could I not, you haven’t let anyone forget since you turned thirteen. How do your friends stand it? Pete’s about to kill you. He told me so,” Bruce went on with an air of conspiracy. “But don’t worry, when he does, I promise I’ll avenge you.”
Clark laughed out loud, and tossed a quick guilty look at Lex’s door.
Bruce slung an arm around Clark’s shoulders and steered him away from the door. “Come on; let’s make pancakes for everyone.” Clark grinned at him. They were eye to eye, Bruce thought. ‘Crap. Eye to eye.’
His little brother Clark wasn’t so little any longer. He was growing up, growing into a man…someday, he told himself. For now at least, he was still just a kid.
******
It was a Saturday afternoon; Ma and Pop were in town, enjoying their day off. Clark was getting ready to head over to Pete’s and Lex was nagging him to get started in the barn.
“Since when has this become your project, can you tell me that?” Bruce complained, dragging a ladder up the stairs to the loft. Lex followed him with a pail full of brushes hanging from one hand and a paint bucket hanging from the other.
“When we found out I have much better taste than you—blue, red, and yellow, my god. What a fucking nightmare that would have been—and hurry, this shit is heavy.”
Bruce tossed him a look and tried to hurry along, maneuvered the ladder around the first landing on the stair. “Clark liked the colors…”
“Clark is thirteen, Bruce. We’re not. ” Lex replied and squeezed past him.
“Yeah,” he muttered low enough so that Lex couldn’t possibly hear him. “I hope you remember that.” He huffed and willed the edge of dark mood away. He finally got the ladder up the stair and began to set it up.
Lex was staring thoughtfully at the wall over the stairs. “I don’t think we need to paint all the walls.”
Bruce agreed enthusiastically. He might be into the whole fix up thing, but still, the less work the better.
“Like the wall over the stairs, we can just hang your posters there, it’ll look great.”
Bruce nodded, whatever Lex thought was good probably was. Even if he had turned down his next suggestion of *black* gray and yellow. A perfectly good ‘palette’ of color. And why the hell did he know and care about words like palette? He didn’t used to know them. Bruce watched Lex looking around the loft, hands on his hips and lips slightly pursed, brows angled together. Jesus, if Lex thought any harder, he’d be able to hear him.
“Lex, just a thought here, the way you’re throwing yourself into this thing—the way you’re taking over? It’s really kind of---faggoty.”
Lex opened the can and stirred it with some sort of wooden stick. “Gay, Bruce, not faggot. And you should be ashamed of yourself, in light of recent confessions and all. Not to mention that’s a ridiculous stereotype.” He squinted up at Bruce. “Talk like that will get you painting the place with no help at all.”
Bruce just grinned. Today had been a good day. Lex was in a good mood, talkative, joking even, eager to work on the loft and that was a good thing.
He was spending less time alone in his room and that was a good thing too. Bruce’s mood wavered again—Lex was also spending a lot of time hanging out with Clark, and that wasn’t such a good thing, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t understand why Lex couldn’t see that it was a bad idea, Clark was head over heels for him. Hell, even the folks could see it. He’d seen them looking at Clark *that* way, a kind of worried, a little concerned, a little puzzled look they got sometimes watching Clark. Clark was an open book poor kid.
Bruce headed for the brushes, listening to Lex with half a mind, mostly just letting the soft sound of his voice wash over him and wondering, why didn’t Lex see it when everyone else did?
Bruce swished the brushes in a pail of clean water and laid them on a rag to drain. Lex called Bruce over to where he stood near the head of the stairs.
“Hold the ladder while I put these up, okay?” He climbed the ladder with a hammer in his hand and a pocket full of tacks. “Hand me the posters when I tell you. And let me know if they look okay—or is that too difficult a job for you?”
“Oh shut the fuck up,” Bruce laughed.
He was leaning his weight against the ladder to steady it, vague thoughts of judo class,
Sean and what might be for dinner drifted through his mind, the rhythmic sound of the hammer as Lex drove in tacks and his soft drone narrating what he was doing worked to lull Bruce into a comfortably relaxed state, his head was just starting to dip a little forward when he heard a sound that made him think of something small breaking.
He turned his head to the sound. Clark was standing at the first landing staring up, looking wounded and suddenly the comfortable zone Bruce had been in disappeared. He became too aware his cheek was nearly pressed against Lex’s ass, and it was warm with Lex’s heat, his nose was filled with the smell of clean washed denim and he saw with weird clarity Clark’s eyes, black and shattered. Looking at it from Clark’s point of view, considering what he felt for Lex, Bruce realized his position might look less than innocent.
Something wrong and dark at the very bottom of his soul woke for an instant and stretched—Bruce smiled at Clark and turned his head slowly so that his mouth nearly brushed Lex, tilted his head back to ask Clark, “What is it?” Even to his own ears his voice sounded different, kind of low and rough.
Clark jerked back and looked sick and Bruce—Bruce told himself he was just teasing, that was all, just playing, not trying to hurt him, he loved his brother and he really wasn’t trying to hurt him, it was a little joke—
Clark whirled and flew down the steps and Lex asked what was going on. “Wasn’t that Clark, hey, we need him--go tell him to come back!” He started to step down and Bruce moved his hands to Lex’s waist and squeezed—hard.
Lex gasped and stiffened. When Bruce felt his muscles relax again under his hands it sent a little thrill through him.
Lex asked in a carefully casual tone, “Bruce…what’s going on?”
Bruce didn’t speak. It was as if the thing that woke in him choked him into silence. His hands slid from Lex’s waist to his legs, up until he cupped him and rubbed lightly, another thrill raced through him when Lex’s dick began to harden.
Lex pushed his hands away and turned awkwardly on the ladder, “What the fuck--” he tried to shove his knee into Bruce’s chest, push him away, but Bruce pushed him back and held him against the rungs
“Stop damn it, we’re going to fall down the stairs, stop—“ He shook his head no. Bruce knew he was stronger, that he could hold him there. He pressed his arm against Lex’s chest and leaned, trapping him against the ladder rungs, with the other hand he unzipped Lex and yanked his jeans down to his knees.
Lex flailed and grasped the ladder, hissed at the rasp of the zipper scraping over sensitive skin, “You’re crazy, you’re going to--”
Bruce didn’t stop to think about what he was doing, afraid that if he did one of them would stop this, Lex would stop him. Lex cursed, gasped, when Bruce lowered his head, licked down the length, teased the head with his tongue and sucked him in when it bobbed up and struck his chin. He held the warm weight in his mouth and shivered as it grew even more, lengthening and hardening in his mouth.
Bruce watched him as he sucked him off--the expression of bewildered lust, shock and anger made his dick flex, every little sound Lex made, it all made him harder. He took as much of Lex as he could in his mouth until his lips brushed the smooth soft skin of Lex’s belly. He swallowed and Lex’s knees wobbled and he held onto Bruce’s shoulders so hard Bruce knew he was going to be bruised, his dick flexed again and he wished he could touch himself.
Lex moaned long and loud and thrust as much as he could against Bruce’s grip. It made it even better for Bruce, the taste, the heat and weight of Lex in his mouth, the fact he held him pinned against the ladder, helpless, barely able to move…he shuddered as all sensations came together in one perfect lance of pleasure, so pure and all consuming it was almost painful, his dick jerked in hot spurts in his pants— Lex clawed at his shoulders, his hair, his hands locked around Bruce’s shirt collar and his body went rigid and then he was coming, flooding Bruce’s mouth and he held Lex tighter, closed his eyes and swallowed and swallowed….
As soon as he could think again, his hold on Lex relaxed and Lex pushed against him hard, the ladder rocked and Bruce grabbed him and swung him to the floor. He stood staring at Lex, hands still locked around his waist and Lex was red faced and furious.
“That—why—you could have hurt me,” he said and Bruce was stunned.
“No, I wouldn’t—it was safe, I was careful.”
Lex jerked out of his grasp and dropped onto the couch. “Bruce—have you lost your mind? What in the *hell* brought that on?” He leaned forward and dropped his head to his knees. “Harry…” his voice broke and he shuddered before drawing in a deep breath. When he looked up, his voice was steady, strong. “I felt like I was betraying him, God, every time I smile, every time I’m not thinking about him, I feel like I’m betraying him and that just…”
Bruce felt something horribly painful expand in his chest, and he nodded slowly. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, but…I’m also not sorry.” He dropped his head and nearly whispered. “I’m not sorry for any of it.”
Lex squeezed the bridge of his nose tightly; he was nearly in complete control again. “Well, good for you. You’re not sorry so everything’s okay now.” Lex sat back and looked at him, hard. “Why did you do it?”
“I don’t…really know. It just seemed—I had a moment, a chance, and I took it. ‘Cause you’d never make a move. I had to.” He sat next to Lex and when he would have moved back, grabbed his arm. “It could be good, I could make you happy.”
Lex stared at Bruce for a long moment. “Bruce, there are so many things about me you don’t understand. You think you know me but you don’t. You just…you wouldn’t be able to understand. Harry and I, we understood each other. You don’t know what it’s like to lose that….”
Bruce felt that weird thing inside him move again. He had to have Lex; he needed him…”Then explain it to me. Let me show you, let me prove to you that I can help, okay? Just give me a chance.” And it really was only because he loved him that much.
tbc ack.
A little bit more of my dear little story, I love it so. Really, I do. *pats it's little head as if it weren't trying to pull my heart out through my nose*
Lex always remembered that time--from the moment he met Vic, until the moment he thought he’d lost everything--as the time that his life really changed, more than the death of his mother, more than the flaming wreckage of his relationship with his father--in a single moment everything changed. From that one point on it seemed his life drifted steadily downward.
He got a letter from Vic a month into the summer. It was a pleasant surprise, and something to be enjoyed, so he got a glass of lemonade and snagged a sandwich from Aunt Martha before heading out to the porch to read it. In the distance he could see a tiny crouching figure near the test beds by the green houses. Clark probably, doing something mysterious and Clark-like no doubt. He chuckled and the boy’s head came up, as though he’d heard him. For one moment he was sure of it, before common sense took over. Clark might be incredibly strong and fast and heal even faster than he did, but he couldn’t have…super hearing. That was just a little too science fiction-y, even for him. He snorted and settled in to the porch swing and prepared himself for some of Vic’s typically skewed views on life. Always fascinating, that’s what Vic’s letters were, sometimes disconcerting but never ever boring. He slit open the expensive envelope, a whiff of perfume floated out as he opened the single sheet of folded paper. He was mildly surprised by that, she tended to write page after page…she could go on for pages and pages in absolute ecstasy over a pair of shoes….
Dear Lex,
I’m in Italy with my mother and Richard, part of the tiresome whirlwind “Let’s Keep Victoria’s Pants Up European Tour.” Wonder what will happen first, Pat getting sick of me, or them running out of countries? In the mean time, I’m not allowed to meet with or talk to any of my friends. Such assholes! (laughing)
Oh well. Give them a month or two and they’ll be frantic to get rid of me. (raspberries) Pat did take time out from shopping to tell me some news, something she heard from a friend of a friend of the Washburns. If it were at all possible, I’d call instead of telling you this way. It’s lousy news to give you in a letter. Harry killed himself. I’m so very sorry. I know you cared for him.
Really sorry.
Vic
Lex let the letter drop from his fingers. “Harry’s dead?” It wasn’t possible. “He’s not dead…” There was no way Harry could be dead. He was tough and brave, he’d been through worse than this, they both had. Harry wasn’t a crybaby, he didn’t knuckle under, he didn’t give up--he’d never do anything like that; Harry was a survivor, just like he was.
She was lying.
Lex got up and walked over to the porch rail, seeing nothing at all.
Lying.
Harry was alive, in Connecticut, waiting for his parents to relent, to let him go so he could come to him. He leaned his head against one of the porch posts, swinging one foot in time to a song that was stuck in his head and wouldn’t come out.
He was beginning to drift a little; it was warm and quiet, the distant drone of bees almost hypnotic, soothing…he closed his eyes and everything disappeared in a haze of red and he waited to slow down….
“Lex,” Aunt Martha called. “Phone for you.” He jumped. Where had he been for the last few minutes?
He roused himself, unkinked his neck and strolled into the kitchen, feeling muzzy and disconnected.
“It’s your father…do you want to…” she held the phone out a little, her eyebrow cocked in question and he nodded yes.
He took the phone and heard his father’s voice; bright, cheerful and ready to slice into him like a clean new scalpel.
“Lex. I’m afraid I have very sad news, son—“Lex stood frozen, unfeeling as a stone throughout his dad’s description, at length and with relish, of the details of Harry’s death.
He had no memory of hanging up, but the phone was on its hook on the wall and Aunt Martha was looking at him strangely. He shrugged. “Dad. You know how he can be when he’s in a mood,” and he walked up the stairs to his room.
Inside, he sat on his bed and closed his eyes.
He cried--it felt like forever—as quietly as he could into his pillow. Harry didn’t deserve that, he was a good person, he didn’t deserve to die. He shouldn’t have felt like that was his only way out—he shouldn’t have left him alone…he was shaking like he had a fever, he felt too hot and a little sick. He was almost grateful when he heard his door open, the hinges squeaked once and footsteps pattered across the room. The bed sank under weight and he expected Aunt Martha to ask him what was wrong…Clark said, “scoot over, don’t say anything, just scoot over” and he did.
Clark climbed into the bed behind him, wrapped his arms around him and pulled him tight against his chest. Lex was furiously embarrassed when he broke into tears again, he was choking and Clark was rocking him, wrapped around him, arms, legs, head pressed to his back and telling him over and over, I know, I know, I know.
Lex groaned, “This is it. I swear to god, I’m never ever going to cry again. Never.”
“That’s stupid, Lex, when you’re sad, you just have to. You can’t not cry—your...your…Harry is gone and you have to mourn for that.”
“Clark, I’m sorry.” Lex had no idea why he was apologizing to Clark, in his head it felt like he was apologizing to Harry. Clark felt like a warm blanket around him, he was so cold that Clark felt hotter than normal. It felt good—and he felt horrible for enjoying anything about this life.
A knock at the door brought Aunt Martha in, carrying a tray holding a bowl of soup, as well as few crackers and a tall glass of juice. “Lex, do you mind if I come in?”
“’Course not Aunt Martha please come in,” he mumbled, stringing the words together. He was a little worried that she might not like Clark laying in bed with him and hated himself for even thinking that way.
In fact, she seemed not to notice that Clark was wrapped around him like a shawl. She set the tray on the nightstand, pulled the blanket folded at the end of his bed up over their legs and pulled the curtains to, making the room comfortably dim. Clark rolled him back from the edge of the bed, settled him against his chest again and Martha sat. She laid her soft cool hand on his too hot head. “I know what happened sweetie. I’m so, so sorry for you. I wish I could say something to make this easier. Don’t be afraid to let it out, we all understand.” He doubted that, but he nodded, his eyes gritty and dry and knowing he was done. Crying just made it worse and made him feel like—
He heard Martha from a million miles away. “Stay with him Clark, and get me if he needs me, even if I’m in bed, okay?”
“Yes, Mom.”
He could feel him say it, a rumble that rolled against his back. Clark was going to be a very serious man when he grew up, he thought, an odd kind of thought that tumbled through his brain before falling away into the cottony dark.
*******
Bruce was washed and dressed and heading for the stairs, more or less ready to start the day, when he saw Clark come walking out of Lex’s room, hair sleep-matted and yawning wide, his flannel PJ bottoms twisted around his waist and legs. Bruce looked harder—those were his darn pajama bottoms, the thief!
“Clark!”
Clark looked his way, obviously still a little out of it. “Hunh? Wha?” He yawned again and scratched heartily at his ribs, rucking his tee-shirt this way and that
“What were you doing in Lex’s room? Where you in there all night?” Ma told him what had happened but even though he felt terrible for Lex, Harry was an abstract. Of course his death was a bad thing--but he didn’t *know* it was a bad thing. He felt guilty that he didn’t share Lex’s sorrow—and a little angry that Clark had reached out first.
“Lex is in trouble, he’s messed up. I just tied to help. Someone needed to be there with him.”
Bruce stared at Clark and felt the warmth of a blush on his cheeks, anger. This kid was trying to tell him he’d failed Lex? That wasn’t true. So what, Clark had been there last night…it didn’t matter, Bruce decided. He’d helped Lex through plenty; Lex knew he could count on him, better than some little kid who barely knew…oh.
He was jealous of his little brother. Geez—he felt like the world’s biggest creep. But…he was still jealous, still a little angry, and maybe a little guilty.
Clark’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him, and Bruce had the feeling something just woke up in Clark, something not good. He changed the subject quickly. “Hey squirt, let’s get breakfast, okay? I can make you pancakes if you want.”
Clark’s face brightened instantly and Bruce was relieved. The look of suspicion was gone. Clark looked at him like he was the best thing since sliced cheese and this look Bruce knew well. “Come on kid. You can crack the eggs if you promise not to crush them and I’ll do the rest.”
He blushed a little and tried not to look too pleased. “Come on Bruce, stop treating me like a little kid—I’m a teenager now, you remember?”
“Yes, Clark for god’s sake I remember—how could I not, you haven’t let anyone forget since you turned thirteen. How do your friends stand it? Pete’s about to kill you. He told me so,” Bruce went on with an air of conspiracy. “But don’t worry, when he does, I promise I’ll avenge you.”
Clark laughed out loud, and tossed a quick guilty look at Lex’s door.
Bruce slung an arm around Clark’s shoulders and steered him away from the door. “Come on; let’s make pancakes for everyone.” Clark grinned at him. They were eye to eye, Bruce thought. ‘Crap. Eye to eye.’
His little brother Clark wasn’t so little any longer. He was growing up, growing into a man…someday, he told himself. For now at least, he was still just a kid.
******
It was a Saturday afternoon; Ma and Pop were in town, enjoying their day off. Clark was getting ready to head over to Pete’s and Lex was nagging him to get started in the barn.
“Since when has this become your project, can you tell me that?” Bruce complained, dragging a ladder up the stairs to the loft. Lex followed him with a pail full of brushes hanging from one hand and a paint bucket hanging from the other.
“When we found out I have much better taste than you—blue, red, and yellow, my god. What a fucking nightmare that would have been—and hurry, this shit is heavy.”
Bruce tossed him a look and tried to hurry along, maneuvered the ladder around the first landing on the stair. “Clark liked the colors…”
“Clark is thirteen, Bruce. We’re not. ” Lex replied and squeezed past him.
“Yeah,” he muttered low enough so that Lex couldn’t possibly hear him. “I hope you remember that.” He huffed and willed the edge of dark mood away. He finally got the ladder up the stair and began to set it up.
Lex was staring thoughtfully at the wall over the stairs. “I don’t think we need to paint all the walls.”
Bruce agreed enthusiastically. He might be into the whole fix up thing, but still, the less work the better.
“Like the wall over the stairs, we can just hang your posters there, it’ll look great.”
Bruce nodded, whatever Lex thought was good probably was. Even if he had turned down his next suggestion of *black* gray and yellow. A perfectly good ‘palette’ of color. And why the hell did he know and care about words like palette? He didn’t used to know them. Bruce watched Lex looking around the loft, hands on his hips and lips slightly pursed, brows angled together. Jesus, if Lex thought any harder, he’d be able to hear him.
“Lex, just a thought here, the way you’re throwing yourself into this thing—the way you’re taking over? It’s really kind of---faggoty.”
Lex opened the can and stirred it with some sort of wooden stick. “Gay, Bruce, not faggot. And you should be ashamed of yourself, in light of recent confessions and all. Not to mention that’s a ridiculous stereotype.” He squinted up at Bruce. “Talk like that will get you painting the place with no help at all.”
Bruce just grinned. Today had been a good day. Lex was in a good mood, talkative, joking even, eager to work on the loft and that was a good thing.
He was spending less time alone in his room and that was a good thing too. Bruce’s mood wavered again—Lex was also spending a lot of time hanging out with Clark, and that wasn’t such a good thing, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t understand why Lex couldn’t see that it was a bad idea, Clark was head over heels for him. Hell, even the folks could see it. He’d seen them looking at Clark *that* way, a kind of worried, a little concerned, a little puzzled look they got sometimes watching Clark. Clark was an open book poor kid.
Bruce headed for the brushes, listening to Lex with half a mind, mostly just letting the soft sound of his voice wash over him and wondering, why didn’t Lex see it when everyone else did?
Bruce swished the brushes in a pail of clean water and laid them on a rag to drain. Lex called Bruce over to where he stood near the head of the stairs.
“Hold the ladder while I put these up, okay?” He climbed the ladder with a hammer in his hand and a pocket full of tacks. “Hand me the posters when I tell you. And let me know if they look okay—or is that too difficult a job for you?”
“Oh shut the fuck up,” Bruce laughed.
He was leaning his weight against the ladder to steady it, vague thoughts of judo class,
Sean and what might be for dinner drifted through his mind, the rhythmic sound of the hammer as Lex drove in tacks and his soft drone narrating what he was doing worked to lull Bruce into a comfortably relaxed state, his head was just starting to dip a little forward when he heard a sound that made him think of something small breaking.
He turned his head to the sound. Clark was standing at the first landing staring up, looking wounded and suddenly the comfortable zone Bruce had been in disappeared. He became too aware his cheek was nearly pressed against Lex’s ass, and it was warm with Lex’s heat, his nose was filled with the smell of clean washed denim and he saw with weird clarity Clark’s eyes, black and shattered. Looking at it from Clark’s point of view, considering what he felt for Lex, Bruce realized his position might look less than innocent.
Something wrong and dark at the very bottom of his soul woke for an instant and stretched—Bruce smiled at Clark and turned his head slowly so that his mouth nearly brushed Lex, tilted his head back to ask Clark, “What is it?” Even to his own ears his voice sounded different, kind of low and rough.
Clark jerked back and looked sick and Bruce—Bruce told himself he was just teasing, that was all, just playing, not trying to hurt him, he loved his brother and he really wasn’t trying to hurt him, it was a little joke—
Clark whirled and flew down the steps and Lex asked what was going on. “Wasn’t that Clark, hey, we need him--go tell him to come back!” He started to step down and Bruce moved his hands to Lex’s waist and squeezed—hard.
Lex gasped and stiffened. When Bruce felt his muscles relax again under his hands it sent a little thrill through him.
Lex asked in a carefully casual tone, “Bruce…what’s going on?”
Bruce didn’t speak. It was as if the thing that woke in him choked him into silence. His hands slid from Lex’s waist to his legs, up until he cupped him and rubbed lightly, another thrill raced through him when Lex’s dick began to harden.
Lex pushed his hands away and turned awkwardly on the ladder, “What the fuck--” he tried to shove his knee into Bruce’s chest, push him away, but Bruce pushed him back and held him against the rungs
“Stop damn it, we’re going to fall down the stairs, stop—“ He shook his head no. Bruce knew he was stronger, that he could hold him there. He pressed his arm against Lex’s chest and leaned, trapping him against the ladder rungs, with the other hand he unzipped Lex and yanked his jeans down to his knees.
Lex flailed and grasped the ladder, hissed at the rasp of the zipper scraping over sensitive skin, “You’re crazy, you’re going to--”
Bruce didn’t stop to think about what he was doing, afraid that if he did one of them would stop this, Lex would stop him. Lex cursed, gasped, when Bruce lowered his head, licked down the length, teased the head with his tongue and sucked him in when it bobbed up and struck his chin. He held the warm weight in his mouth and shivered as it grew even more, lengthening and hardening in his mouth.
Bruce watched him as he sucked him off--the expression of bewildered lust, shock and anger made his dick flex, every little sound Lex made, it all made him harder. He took as much of Lex as he could in his mouth until his lips brushed the smooth soft skin of Lex’s belly. He swallowed and Lex’s knees wobbled and he held onto Bruce’s shoulders so hard Bruce knew he was going to be bruised, his dick flexed again and he wished he could touch himself.
Lex moaned long and loud and thrust as much as he could against Bruce’s grip. It made it even better for Bruce, the taste, the heat and weight of Lex in his mouth, the fact he held him pinned against the ladder, helpless, barely able to move…he shuddered as all sensations came together in one perfect lance of pleasure, so pure and all consuming it was almost painful, his dick jerked in hot spurts in his pants— Lex clawed at his shoulders, his hair, his hands locked around Bruce’s shirt collar and his body went rigid and then he was coming, flooding Bruce’s mouth and he held Lex tighter, closed his eyes and swallowed and swallowed….
As soon as he could think again, his hold on Lex relaxed and Lex pushed against him hard, the ladder rocked and Bruce grabbed him and swung him to the floor. He stood staring at Lex, hands still locked around his waist and Lex was red faced and furious.
“That—why—you could have hurt me,” he said and Bruce was stunned.
“No, I wouldn’t—it was safe, I was careful.”
Lex jerked out of his grasp and dropped onto the couch. “Bruce—have you lost your mind? What in the *hell* brought that on?” He leaned forward and dropped his head to his knees. “Harry…” his voice broke and he shuddered before drawing in a deep breath. When he looked up, his voice was steady, strong. “I felt like I was betraying him, God, every time I smile, every time I’m not thinking about him, I feel like I’m betraying him and that just…”
Bruce felt something horribly painful expand in his chest, and he nodded slowly. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, but…I’m also not sorry.” He dropped his head and nearly whispered. “I’m not sorry for any of it.”
Lex squeezed the bridge of his nose tightly; he was nearly in complete control again. “Well, good for you. You’re not sorry so everything’s okay now.” Lex sat back and looked at him, hard. “Why did you do it?”
“I don’t…really know. It just seemed—I had a moment, a chance, and I took it. ‘Cause you’d never make a move. I had to.” He sat next to Lex and when he would have moved back, grabbed his arm. “It could be good, I could make you happy.”
Lex stared at Bruce for a long moment. “Bruce, there are so many things about me you don’t understand. You think you know me but you don’t. You just…you wouldn’t be able to understand. Harry and I, we understood each other. You don’t know what it’s like to lose that….”
Bruce felt that weird thing inside him move again. He had to have Lex; he needed him…”Then explain it to me. Let me show you, let me prove to you that I can help, okay? Just give me a chance.” And it really was only because he loved him that much.
tbc ack.
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(no subject)
2/4/06 02:54 am (UTC)Roxy!!!
How could you!!
*wails*
Now there's gonna be angst and horror and sadness and no more three of them against the world and....and.....
*wails*
Bruce has the *evol* in him, yis he does.
:)
(no subject)
2/4/06 04:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
2/4/06 02:58 am (UTC)(no subject)
2/4/06 04:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
2/4/06 06:10 pm (UTC)http://community.livejournal.com/scans_daily/1392738.html
(no subject)
2/5/06 07:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
2/4/06 03:16 am (UTC)You are breaking me apart with all this angst. Poor Lex, his Harry is dead. Poor woobie.
(no subject)
2/4/06 04:56 am (UTC)I always miss the characters I kill.
(no subject)
2/4/06 06:33 am (UTC)Lex is so broken, and Clark is just perfect, he's so grown up for a 13 year old, and I feel so bad that he's just been hurt like that by his own brother.
(no subject)
2/4/06 06:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
2/4/06 06:43 am (UTC)//Bruce smiled at Clark and turned his head slowly so that his mouth nearly brushed Lex, tilted his head back to ask Clark, “What is it?” Even to his own ears his voice sounded different, kind of low and rough.//
Harry who?
//lowered his head, licked down the length, teased the head with his tongue and sucked him in when it bobbed up and struck his chin.//
Harry what?
Oh, man this is going to hurt, isn't it?
(no subject)
2/4/06 06:59 am (UTC)*nods* It's going to get so much worse before it gets...well, I was going to say better.
(no subject)
2/4/06 10:04 am (UTC):) the ladder!sex angsty non-con sex was hot. but i want more clark and lex!!!! kill off bruce, too. hehe!
(no subject)
2/5/06 07:31 am (UTC)Kidding. *G*
(no subject)
2/4/06 02:52 pm (UTC)Sad for Harry of course, but not so much for the triangle starting up. Poor angsty, 'little' Clark - sounding like something small had broken, poor Lex, and ever-jealous Bruce: I just really love 'em like this.
Can't wait for more, so maybe you could talk 'em into dragging your heart out through your throat instead(it would hurt less).
(no subject)
2/5/06 07:32 am (UTC)So glad you liked this bit!
(no subject)
2/5/06 12:30 am (UTC)*sobs for all three boys, and maybe a little for Harry too*
This story has me in its pocket, darling heart!
*sniffles*
(no subject)
2/5/06 07:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
2/5/06 02:49 pm (UTC)Behold, I am Bruce the ass shat and I am here to pleasure you!
2/6/06 07:03 am (UTC)Re: Behold, I am Bruce the ass shat and I am here to pleasure you!
2/6/06 05:20 pm (UTC)And Lex gets caught a little, yep. Because I love him to pieces, he's my little shnoogie-woogie. *g*
(no subject)
2/6/06 12:08 pm (UTC)I’m so very sorry for Clark; I’m starting to really not like this Bruce. He’s going to hurt the poor kid. And I think Lex has begun to realize who’s the one that’s meant to be with him.
Great chapter! The Dark Knight is making this story darker. I’m looking forward to the Clex!
(no subject)
2/6/06 05:22 pm (UTC)Don't worry about Clark, he isn't an emotional punching bag for him, he's pretty tough!
(no subject)
2/7/06 09:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
2/7/06 11:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/29/06 01:21 am (UTC)Lex, poor baby. he finally feels more like himself and Bruce forces him... oh, man, not a propitious beginning, that. (Even if it was oh-so-hot and yummy.)
*ahem* :)
(no subject)
7/2/08 05:23 am (UTC)These boys are gonna tear him apart and I'm so ready!
(no subject)
11/10/12 08:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/10/12 09:33 pm (UTC)