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part 43 Brothers
The Previous Parts want you to know that Mikey was every bit as good as you've dreamed, and that they tattooed their name on his ass and are making a face at you--you know who you are.
In the days before the funeral, Clark shut himself off from everyone but Bruce. He made sure that Bruce got up in the morning, made sure he ate, that he slept at night. When Alfred called, he made sure that Bruce spoke to him. He called Lex and demanded that he come home, now, immediately. No excuses. He slept in Bruce’s room, and Bruce wrapped himself so tight around Clark when he’d finally drop off to sleep that Clark found it hard to breathe or move. .
Lex arrived the day after the phone call and things changed.
He spoke to Clark; told him how proud he was that he was coping so well and turned his attention and energy to Bruce.
He took Bruce into his bedroom and locked the door behind him and Clark sat in his own room. He waited, silent and still, back pressed against the headboard and wrapped in the blankets. He watched his room go from pitch black to gray as the sun rose before he surrendered to sleep.
Late the next morning, the smell of coffee he hadn’t made woke Clark and he made his way to the kitchen. Bruce and Lex sat silently at the kitchen table, both of them pushing untouched cups of coffee back and forth in front of them. Lex looked paler, Bruce looked a little more alive. Neither of them spoke to Clark, but when he sat at the table with them, Bruce reached out, clutched his hand and wouldn’t let it go.
******
The funeral was quiet, extremely private. The sun shone down on them, painting the grass brilliant green, the damp raw earth glistened. A little breeze wove tiny cool tendrils through the warm shade of the canopy and Clark was grateful for it; it was just warm enough that he was beginning to sweat in the winter-weight black suit he wore. He pushed his hair back, forgetting that the hand he used held a bit of dirt in it just moments before. Lex leaned over and wiped the smear at his temple away and handed him the handkerchief. Clark nodded thanks, wiped his hand and realized--it was over. All over. His parents were well and truly gone. Tears welled up and ran down his face and Lex squeezed his shoulder.
A shadow dropped over him and he looked up to see Bruce in front of him, made expressionless by the dark glasses he wore. He looked almost threatening for a moment, and then his face smoothed out, he reached down for his hand and it was Bruce and it wasn’t. This was a person he’d never known. This Bruce wasn’t in mourning; he was beyond sorrow, so deeply in thought that the outside world wasn’t real to him. He was turned inside and nothing Clark did would bring him back, until he was ready to face the world again. Clark tried to be patient but felt a little betrayed and alone. He felt like he was on the outside, that Bruce, no matter how much he touched him and wanted to hold him was keeping him at bay while letting Lex in.
*****
He sat on the edge of Bruce’s bed; still in the black suit and tie he wore to the funeral that afternoon. Bruce lay with his head in Lex’s lap, eyes closed and an arm wrapped around his leg. Lex reached over and undid Clark’s tie, pulling it through the collar and wrapping it around his fist. He touched his thumb to Clark’s cheek and smiled at him. Clark could see exhaustion etched into his features, making his eyes dark, painting gray shadows under them and he felt again that weird twist of guilt and anger.
“Clark,” he asked, “Can you make some tea, maybe some toast or something?”
Bruce turned his head and mumbled into Lex’s leg, “I’m not going to eat. You can’t make me.” He pulled his legs up until his body was curled around Clark, and his arms were wrapped around Lex.
Clark swallowed a sound, a noise between a sob and a laugh and Lex looked at him mistaking Clark’s expression for exasperation. He shook his head, smiled and rolled his eyes. “Get the toast, Clark. We’ll get him to eat.”
*****
Clark put four slices of bread into the toaster. He put a full kettle on the stove and turned the heat on high. He sat at the counter, and leaned his elbows on the cool granite. Pop had put it in for Mom. So she could roll out piecrusts, nice and neat, on it. He trailed a finger around and around the counter, drawing pie shapes on the granite.
When the kettle began to whistle, he slid off the stool and brought out the tin with the teabags from the pantry cabinet. He took three crockery mugs, printed with the name of the hotel they used to visit when he was little, out of the dish cabinet, put a bag in each one.
There were just a few teabags left. *I’ll have to tell Mom we’re almost out of tea…*
He sank down to the floor, cradling the can, and cried. He cried and as he did, he worried he was taking too long. Finally, he stood, washed his face in cool water and loaded a tray with the cups and dry toast.
*****
When he pushed open the door to Bruce’s room, balancing the tray and pasting a smile on his face, Lex shushed him. “Asleep,” he mouthed and pointed at Bruce.
Bruce’s sleep softened face made him look so young, content, almost innocent. Clark watched him breathe for a few seconds before putting the tray down. He bent over Lex and kissed him. He kissed him softly, gently, as if he were fragile, breakable….
Lex gasped like he’d forgotten how to breathe when Clark let go of him--reached out for him. “Clark—Clark….”
Clark eased Bruce carefully from Lex’s lap to the bed. He pulled gently at Lex’s hand, coaxing until he rose from the bed and followed Clark to the stairs, out of the house, into the barn.
When they were in the loft, he pushed Lex down onto the sofa and frowned. “Please.” He stood with his hands limp at his side, quiet and motionless. He felt like he was begging for his life. He was so tired that he couldn’t say more, he just hoped that Lex would understand. And of course he didn’t.
Lex shook his head. “You’re hurting—the worst hurt you can have—this isn’t the time,” he said, and Clark sighed in resignation. He dropped down next to him on the sofa and put his hand over Lex’s mouth.
“All I want is someone to hold me for a minute.”
Lex blushed faintly and wrapped his arms around him then, eased back until Clark and he were laying full length on the sofa together. Clark moved down until his head was tucked beneath Lex’s chin, and he could hear the steady thud of Lex’s pulse, feel the beat of his heart. He pushed against him, searching for more heat. Maybe he could relax for a minute, feel safe and loved, at least until Lex ruined it.
“I love you Clark. More than anything. I thought about you all the time I was gone. I always think about you…”
Lex smoothed Clark’s hair, letting it run through his fingers, ghosting over his neck, and shoulders, stroking back to the crown of his head again. Clark sighed. *And there he goes.* he thought. Clark laughed a little. “Lex. You don’t need to say you love me. We both know Bruce will always come first and it’s really okay.”
Lex froze. “I think you misunderstand what happened--”
Clark held him a little tighter and said, “Don’t. Just hold me. That’s all I want from you.” Lex just kept talking, started to tell him that maybe waiting wasn’t that important, that right now was important, and Clark let out a long breath.
“I know you wanted me to have a normal life. So I did. I had sex with Whitney. So anything you do is okay. We’re both okay.” Clark had no idea why he lied, but once the words were out, he couldn’t figure out how to unsay them. They just hung in the air, huge and stupid and making his head hurt.
Lex stared at him. He looked pale and Clark felt a wave of anger. Before he could speak, he heard noise on the stairs, and suddenly Bruce was standing there, yawning, peering around in the gloom blearily.
He seemed not even to notice that Clark and Lex were lying entwined on the sofa. “There you are, Clark. Come back to the house. I don’t want to be in there by myself.” He held out his hand, and Clark jumped up and took it, and they walked back to the house. Lex didn’t follow.
Clark didn’t speak to him about it the next day, even though he wanted to explain to Lex how stupid what he’d said was. It was just, there was so much to do, and so much Bruce needed, so he never quite found the time. And then Lex told Bruce he was leaving the next morning and Clark figured that he’d call Lex and tell him that he lied; Lex would understand that he just had some strange brain malfunction and they could go on from there.
****
Lex spent a week at school, thinking about what Clark said. About Whitney. He’d believed it at the moment—he’d been stunned stupid—Clark wasn’t supposed to turn away from him, he loved him. It didn’t take him long to come to his senses and to understand. It wasn’t true; Clark would never do that to him. He’d said it more than likely out of retaliation for Bruce. But Bruce needed him and besides, it wasn’t what Clark thought. Bruce had needed comfort and closeness that Clark couldn’t give him.
Lex frowned. He was sure that he could make Clark understand. He was a very mature young man, brighter and more understanding than most his age. Lex was sure that Clark would see the truth of what he had to say.
By the time he called and actually managed to reach someone at the Kent house, a few weeks had passed. Bruce answered the phone, he sounded harried and impatient. Their conversation was short and to the point. They were going to England; they would be staying with Alfred. Bruce had things he had to do. Clark was his ward, and would be leaving with him. Bruce told him he loved him, and he’d be welcome anytime and the phone disconnected, leaving Lex listening to the dial tone. He shivered.
Okay. Not the end of the world. He’d just have to wait a little longer to talk to Clark. When they were settled in, then, he’d talk to him.
It just never happened that way.
In the days before the funeral, Clark shut himself off from everyone but Bruce. He made sure that Bruce got up in the morning, made sure he ate, that he slept at night. When Alfred called, he made sure that Bruce spoke to him. He called Lex and demanded that he come home, now, immediately. No excuses. He slept in Bruce’s room, and Bruce wrapped himself so tight around Clark when he’d finally drop off to sleep that Clark found it hard to breathe or move. .
Lex arrived the day after the phone call and things changed.
He spoke to Clark; told him how proud he was that he was coping so well and turned his attention and energy to Bruce.
He took Bruce into his bedroom and locked the door behind him and Clark sat in his own room. He waited, silent and still, back pressed against the headboard and wrapped in the blankets. He watched his room go from pitch black to gray as the sun rose before he surrendered to sleep.
Late the next morning, the smell of coffee he hadn’t made woke Clark and he made his way to the kitchen. Bruce and Lex sat silently at the kitchen table, both of them pushing untouched cups of coffee back and forth in front of them. Lex looked paler, Bruce looked a little more alive. Neither of them spoke to Clark, but when he sat at the table with them, Bruce reached out, clutched his hand and wouldn’t let it go.
******
The funeral was quiet, extremely private. The sun shone down on them, painting the grass brilliant green, the damp raw earth glistened. A little breeze wove tiny cool tendrils through the warm shade of the canopy and Clark was grateful for it; it was just warm enough that he was beginning to sweat in the winter-weight black suit he wore. He pushed his hair back, forgetting that the hand he used held a bit of dirt in it just moments before. Lex leaned over and wiped the smear at his temple away and handed him the handkerchief. Clark nodded thanks, wiped his hand and realized--it was over. All over. His parents were well and truly gone. Tears welled up and ran down his face and Lex squeezed his shoulder.
A shadow dropped over him and he looked up to see Bruce in front of him, made expressionless by the dark glasses he wore. He looked almost threatening for a moment, and then his face smoothed out, he reached down for his hand and it was Bruce and it wasn’t. This was a person he’d never known. This Bruce wasn’t in mourning; he was beyond sorrow, so deeply in thought that the outside world wasn’t real to him. He was turned inside and nothing Clark did would bring him back, until he was ready to face the world again. Clark tried to be patient but felt a little betrayed and alone. He felt like he was on the outside, that Bruce, no matter how much he touched him and wanted to hold him was keeping him at bay while letting Lex in.
*****
He sat on the edge of Bruce’s bed; still in the black suit and tie he wore to the funeral that afternoon. Bruce lay with his head in Lex’s lap, eyes closed and an arm wrapped around his leg. Lex reached over and undid Clark’s tie, pulling it through the collar and wrapping it around his fist. He touched his thumb to Clark’s cheek and smiled at him. Clark could see exhaustion etched into his features, making his eyes dark, painting gray shadows under them and he felt again that weird twist of guilt and anger.
“Clark,” he asked, “Can you make some tea, maybe some toast or something?”
Bruce turned his head and mumbled into Lex’s leg, “I’m not going to eat. You can’t make me.” He pulled his legs up until his body was curled around Clark, and his arms were wrapped around Lex.
Clark swallowed a sound, a noise between a sob and a laugh and Lex looked at him mistaking Clark’s expression for exasperation. He shook his head, smiled and rolled his eyes. “Get the toast, Clark. We’ll get him to eat.”
*****
Clark put four slices of bread into the toaster. He put a full kettle on the stove and turned the heat on high. He sat at the counter, and leaned his elbows on the cool granite. Pop had put it in for Mom. So she could roll out piecrusts, nice and neat, on it. He trailed a finger around and around the counter, drawing pie shapes on the granite.
When the kettle began to whistle, he slid off the stool and brought out the tin with the teabags from the pantry cabinet. He took three crockery mugs, printed with the name of the hotel they used to visit when he was little, out of the dish cabinet, put a bag in each one.
There were just a few teabags left. *I’ll have to tell Mom we’re almost out of tea…*
He sank down to the floor, cradling the can, and cried. He cried and as he did, he worried he was taking too long. Finally, he stood, washed his face in cool water and loaded a tray with the cups and dry toast.
*****
When he pushed open the door to Bruce’s room, balancing the tray and pasting a smile on his face, Lex shushed him. “Asleep,” he mouthed and pointed at Bruce.
Bruce’s sleep softened face made him look so young, content, almost innocent. Clark watched him breathe for a few seconds before putting the tray down. He bent over Lex and kissed him. He kissed him softly, gently, as if he were fragile, breakable….
Lex gasped like he’d forgotten how to breathe when Clark let go of him--reached out for him. “Clark—Clark….”
Clark eased Bruce carefully from Lex’s lap to the bed. He pulled gently at Lex’s hand, coaxing until he rose from the bed and followed Clark to the stairs, out of the house, into the barn.
When they were in the loft, he pushed Lex down onto the sofa and frowned. “Please.” He stood with his hands limp at his side, quiet and motionless. He felt like he was begging for his life. He was so tired that he couldn’t say more, he just hoped that Lex would understand. And of course he didn’t.
Lex shook his head. “You’re hurting—the worst hurt you can have—this isn’t the time,” he said, and Clark sighed in resignation. He dropped down next to him on the sofa and put his hand over Lex’s mouth.
“All I want is someone to hold me for a minute.”
Lex blushed faintly and wrapped his arms around him then, eased back until Clark and he were laying full length on the sofa together. Clark moved down until his head was tucked beneath Lex’s chin, and he could hear the steady thud of Lex’s pulse, feel the beat of his heart. He pushed against him, searching for more heat. Maybe he could relax for a minute, feel safe and loved, at least until Lex ruined it.
“I love you Clark. More than anything. I thought about you all the time I was gone. I always think about you…”
Lex smoothed Clark’s hair, letting it run through his fingers, ghosting over his neck, and shoulders, stroking back to the crown of his head again. Clark sighed. *And there he goes.* he thought. Clark laughed a little. “Lex. You don’t need to say you love me. We both know Bruce will always come first and it’s really okay.”
Lex froze. “I think you misunderstand what happened--”
Clark held him a little tighter and said, “Don’t. Just hold me. That’s all I want from you.” Lex just kept talking, started to tell him that maybe waiting wasn’t that important, that right now was important, and Clark let out a long breath.
“I know you wanted me to have a normal life. So I did. I had sex with Whitney. So anything you do is okay. We’re both okay.” Clark had no idea why he lied, but once the words were out, he couldn’t figure out how to unsay them. They just hung in the air, huge and stupid and making his head hurt.
Lex stared at him. He looked pale and Clark felt a wave of anger. Before he could speak, he heard noise on the stairs, and suddenly Bruce was standing there, yawning, peering around in the gloom blearily.
He seemed not even to notice that Clark and Lex were lying entwined on the sofa. “There you are, Clark. Come back to the house. I don’t want to be in there by myself.” He held out his hand, and Clark jumped up and took it, and they walked back to the house. Lex didn’t follow.
Clark didn’t speak to him about it the next day, even though he wanted to explain to Lex how stupid what he’d said was. It was just, there was so much to do, and so much Bruce needed, so he never quite found the time. And then Lex told Bruce he was leaving the next morning and Clark figured that he’d call Lex and tell him that he lied; Lex would understand that he just had some strange brain malfunction and they could go on from there.
****
Lex spent a week at school, thinking about what Clark said. About Whitney. He’d believed it at the moment—he’d been stunned stupid—Clark wasn’t supposed to turn away from him, he loved him. It didn’t take him long to come to his senses and to understand. It wasn’t true; Clark would never do that to him. He’d said it more than likely out of retaliation for Bruce. But Bruce needed him and besides, it wasn’t what Clark thought. Bruce had needed comfort and closeness that Clark couldn’t give him.
Lex frowned. He was sure that he could make Clark understand. He was a very mature young man, brighter and more understanding than most his age. Lex was sure that Clark would see the truth of what he had to say.
By the time he called and actually managed to reach someone at the Kent house, a few weeks had passed. Bruce answered the phone, he sounded harried and impatient. Their conversation was short and to the point. They were going to England; they would be staying with Alfred. Bruce had things he had to do. Clark was his ward, and would be leaving with him. Bruce told him he loved him, and he’d be welcome anytime and the phone disconnected, leaving Lex listening to the dial tone. He shivered.
Okay. Not the end of the world. He’d just have to wait a little longer to talk to Clark. When they were settled in, then, he’d talk to him.
It just never happened that way.
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*hugs*
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*hates you*
*begs fro more*
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I need some tissuess badly. Clark and Bruce and Lex. Poor boys.
*smothers them with hugs*
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*peeks at you*
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Gues who's stomach is hurting now? :(
And BTW? Previous Parts? Step away from Mikey's ass and you MIGHT NOT get hurt.
;D
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*hughugpatpat*
Right? Poor Lex....
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now I need to find me some brainly funny porn or something...
ZOMFG!
TW in the robin suit with the GREEN PANTIES!
not a good image, honest.
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Winter
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You kill them, and then you make *all* the boys sad, and then you make Clark a moron and then *Lex* a moron and......damnit, Ms. Thang, stop stompin' on my heart!!!!!!
*sobs*
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you are loaded with surprizes. This last chapter has me crying my eyes out.
moresoonplease
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I'm working so hard to get this next bit postable! I hope to have it ready tomorrow night.
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HUGS. :)
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