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cinderella81, miche_connor, svmaria. Thank you, dear ones, for helping me make the right choice, and I’ll be whining asking for help again, no doubt!
Title:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—yet.
Rating: 2
Summary: The world is AU. The world is a gecko.
The Previous Parts are here, trying to convince Mother Superior they have a coming—er—calling….
Interlude/
After school let out, Clark headed home on foot, taking his time and meandering along the river bank. He stopped and stood on the bank, skipping stones across the water, and wishing that he was about a million miles away. He didn’t really like feeling sorry for himself but sometimes…everything got just a little overwhelming.
It seemed so unfair sometimes—everyone at school had somebody, it seemed, everybody but him. He was alone, more than anyone at that stupid school. None of them had to suffer through what it was like to be so horribly different. None of them had been stolen—hurt so bad that it just kept on hurting and you had to pretend all the time that everything was fine.
He looked up at the road, distracted from the river by a loud jangling noise. A truck speeding away had lost part of its load--a bale of wire lay in the road.
He jogged up to the bridge and at the same moment heard the roar of an engine coming up fast behind him—he needed to warn whoever it was there was something on the road. He dashed out to the roadway, yelling and waving. Whoever it was came up fast— swerved scarily at the very last minute. Clark’s heart was in his throat, hammering with fear. The crazy driver nosedived into the ditch at the high side of the road.
Clark dashed over to the sleek silver Porsche, and looked inside. There was an old guy, bald and skinny, sitting inside. His head was turned away from him but Clark could clearly hear him cursing. He sounded groggy, but okay. His seatbelt lay open and he was scrabbling at the keys in the ignition.
He tapped hard on the glass, and the bald guy turned to look at him. Clark saw with surprise that he wasn’t old—he was bald, but really young--and very good looking. Clark blushed. He had really pretty blue eyes, almost the same color as…the memory fled.
“Hey, are you okay,” Clark called through the glass. The guy winced and nodded, made a shooing motion at him. Clark stepped back, and the door opened, and the guy slid out.
Whatever had made Clark think he was skinny, he couldn’t imagine. He was tall, and slim, but the way he moved, Clark knew there was solid muscle on that frame. He wore a long black coat and a dark sweater that looked so soft…Clark had to fight the overwhelming urge to touch it.
“Fuck. Fuck me.” The guy cursed so casually, and walked around the car, hands jammed in his pockets. It pulled his pants tight over his crotch, and Clark kept sneaking looks as the guy stomped around the car.
He stared at the poor Porsche like it was the devil, frowning. Clark thought he had nice lips; really nice lips…the guy looked at him finally.
“Hey, kid—I think you saved my life.” He grinned, a slightly lop-sided grin, his teeth flashing at him. “What do you think—can we move this car out of the ditch together?” He was taking his coat off and rolling up his shirt sleeves and Clark saw that he was right—he was fit, he had a swimmers body…Clark dragged his attention away from the guy’s body and back to his face, and saw he was smirking. He stuck out his leather gloved hand and said, “Lex Luthor.”
“Clark Kent,” he replied, and the minute he touched the guy’s—Lex’s--hand, he felt a blush rising from what felt like his gut, right up to his face. Hell—the blood was rushing right back to his cock…he’d never felt such an instant stab of lust before—not for Pete, not for—not for… “Nice to—nice to meet you, Lex Luthor,” he gasped. Lex’s eyes widened a bit, his hand closed down tighter on Clark’s and he glanced down. Shit. Clark swallowed. He wasn’t hard, but he was…interested. Fuck. Lex gave him a slow grin and said,” Come on. Give me a hand,” and grinned even wider—Clark could feel his face going fire engine red.
Between the two of them, they actually managed to get the car out of the ditch, much to Lex’s relief. He stood next to the gently purring car, hands on his hips and said, “Thanks a lot, Clark.” He smirked and moved a little closer. Clark felt the blood beating in his throat, felt sweat break out between his shoulder blades, and prayed that one of his attacks wasn’t coming on. He knew, right at this moment, he knew--if this guy asked, he’d do anything. Anything at all. He could feel it, he was sure it showed on his face.
Lex—he looked like he was going to eat him alive. He licked his lip, and Clark saw there was a little scar on his top lip, and the movement made him lick his own lip—and he was hard, and a little dizzy, and Lex’s hands were moving, pulling his shirt tight… “Say, do you know where the shit factory is? I’ve got an appointment there…” he was rolling down his sleeves and Clark felt a sharp stab of disappointment, he grabbed his coat and flowed back into it—Clark snapped his mouth shut and licked ash dry lips and wondered how long he’d been standing open mouthed like a dork.
Lex Luthor turned and looked at him, with the smirk that seemed a permanent expression. “Um, shit factory? Mr. Kent?”
“Oh—oh the fertilizer plant, yeah, I know the place. Every body does---half the town works there.”
“Yeah? Well, God help ‘em, than. Get in.” He slid into the car and looked up. “You comin’?”
The squeal of tires on cinder ripped through the odd little bubble he was in and brought him back to Kansas. Dad’s truck was parked on the side of the road, and Dad was running towards them, and Clark was terribly disappointed. Relieved. Not really sure of how he felt….damn it. “Oh—it’s my dad…”
Lex Luthor looked briefly regretful, a little angry, too. Looking at his expression, Clark would have given anything for his dad to have passed them by. Lex licked his lip again, and Clark watched and sighed.
His dad was standing next to him too soon. “Clark—what—why weren’t you waiting for me at school? Who’s this—oh. Oh.”
The guy slid out of his car again, leaning over it, “Hi, your son just helped me out of a tight spot. I’m Lex Luthor.” He said, and held his hand out, and Dad ignored it, and Clark was embarrassed.
“I know who you are. Let’s go, Clark.”
“Dad!”
Lex made a sinuous shrugging motion that made Clark’s stomach burn. “Don’t worry about it, kid—I’m used to that reaction. People don’t like my dad, so they tend to toss it on me.” He grinned right into Clark’s eyes, heat and something else made them blaze. “They’ll regret that one day. I’ve got a good memory.”
His dad took a step forward, and opened his mouth and Clark got ready to intervene but Lex laughed. “Well, I think this little encounter was a sign—Dad can take his crap factory and shove it. I’d rather take his shit, than deal with attitudes like *that*.” He winked at Clark, as he jerked his head at his dad. “See ya, Clark Kent. Too bad. It would have been—memorable. Legendary, I’m willing to bet.” He winked again, so slow and so hot—so unmistakable what he meant--that Clark nearly forgot to breathe. He jumped back in his Porsche, dust billowed up along the roadside and gravel flew as he tore off again, just as fast as before.
“What the hell was he talking about, Clark?” His dad was staring down the road, red faced and angry.
“I don’t know, Dad, I don’t know.”
Later, Clark looked up Luthor on line and found out why his dad and others hated him—Lionel Luthor was a slimy bastard, and his son seemed to be kind of a mess…drugs, sex, scandal. Clark shivered. He almost got hit on by Lex Luthor. Damn it. He’d almost found out what it was like to…to be wanted. He shivered. It was a thought that attracted him, and frightened him.
cinderella81, miche_connor, svmaria. Thank you, dear ones, for helping me make the right choice, and I’ll be Title:Mariposa
Fandom: SV
Pairing: n/a—yet.
Rating: 2
Summary: The world is AU. The world is a gecko.
The Previous Parts are here, trying to convince Mother Superior they have a coming—er—calling….
Interlude/
After school let out, Clark headed home on foot, taking his time and meandering along the river bank. He stopped and stood on the bank, skipping stones across the water, and wishing that he was about a million miles away. He didn’t really like feeling sorry for himself but sometimes…everything got just a little overwhelming.
It seemed so unfair sometimes—everyone at school had somebody, it seemed, everybody but him. He was alone, more than anyone at that stupid school. None of them had to suffer through what it was like to be so horribly different. None of them had been stolen—hurt so bad that it just kept on hurting and you had to pretend all the time that everything was fine.
He looked up at the road, distracted from the river by a loud jangling noise. A truck speeding away had lost part of its load--a bale of wire lay in the road.
He jogged up to the bridge and at the same moment heard the roar of an engine coming up fast behind him—he needed to warn whoever it was there was something on the road. He dashed out to the roadway, yelling and waving. Whoever it was came up fast— swerved scarily at the very last minute. Clark’s heart was in his throat, hammering with fear. The crazy driver nosedived into the ditch at the high side of the road.
Clark dashed over to the sleek silver Porsche, and looked inside. There was an old guy, bald and skinny, sitting inside. His head was turned away from him but Clark could clearly hear him cursing. He sounded groggy, but okay. His seatbelt lay open and he was scrabbling at the keys in the ignition.
He tapped hard on the glass, and the bald guy turned to look at him. Clark saw with surprise that he wasn’t old—he was bald, but really young--and very good looking. Clark blushed. He had really pretty blue eyes, almost the same color as…the memory fled.
“Hey, are you okay,” Clark called through the glass. The guy winced and nodded, made a shooing motion at him. Clark stepped back, and the door opened, and the guy slid out.
Whatever had made Clark think he was skinny, he couldn’t imagine. He was tall, and slim, but the way he moved, Clark knew there was solid muscle on that frame. He wore a long black coat and a dark sweater that looked so soft…Clark had to fight the overwhelming urge to touch it.
“Fuck. Fuck me.” The guy cursed so casually, and walked around the car, hands jammed in his pockets. It pulled his pants tight over his crotch, and Clark kept sneaking looks as the guy stomped around the car.
He stared at the poor Porsche like it was the devil, frowning. Clark thought he had nice lips; really nice lips…the guy looked at him finally.
“Hey, kid—I think you saved my life.” He grinned, a slightly lop-sided grin, his teeth flashing at him. “What do you think—can we move this car out of the ditch together?” He was taking his coat off and rolling up his shirt sleeves and Clark saw that he was right—he was fit, he had a swimmers body…Clark dragged his attention away from the guy’s body and back to his face, and saw he was smirking. He stuck out his leather gloved hand and said, “Lex Luthor.”
“Clark Kent,” he replied, and the minute he touched the guy’s—Lex’s--hand, he felt a blush rising from what felt like his gut, right up to his face. Hell—the blood was rushing right back to his cock…he’d never felt such an instant stab of lust before—not for Pete, not for—not for… “Nice to—nice to meet you, Lex Luthor,” he gasped. Lex’s eyes widened a bit, his hand closed down tighter on Clark’s and he glanced down. Shit. Clark swallowed. He wasn’t hard, but he was…interested. Fuck. Lex gave him a slow grin and said,” Come on. Give me a hand,” and grinned even wider—Clark could feel his face going fire engine red.
Between the two of them, they actually managed to get the car out of the ditch, much to Lex’s relief. He stood next to the gently purring car, hands on his hips and said, “Thanks a lot, Clark.” He smirked and moved a little closer. Clark felt the blood beating in his throat, felt sweat break out between his shoulder blades, and prayed that one of his attacks wasn’t coming on. He knew, right at this moment, he knew--if this guy asked, he’d do anything. Anything at all. He could feel it, he was sure it showed on his face.
Lex—he looked like he was going to eat him alive. He licked his lip, and Clark saw there was a little scar on his top lip, and the movement made him lick his own lip—and he was hard, and a little dizzy, and Lex’s hands were moving, pulling his shirt tight… “Say, do you know where the shit factory is? I’ve got an appointment there…” he was rolling down his sleeves and Clark felt a sharp stab of disappointment, he grabbed his coat and flowed back into it—Clark snapped his mouth shut and licked ash dry lips and wondered how long he’d been standing open mouthed like a dork.
Lex Luthor turned and looked at him, with the smirk that seemed a permanent expression. “Um, shit factory? Mr. Kent?”
“Oh—oh the fertilizer plant, yeah, I know the place. Every body does---half the town works there.”
“Yeah? Well, God help ‘em, than. Get in.” He slid into the car and looked up. “You comin’?”
The squeal of tires on cinder ripped through the odd little bubble he was in and brought him back to Kansas. Dad’s truck was parked on the side of the road, and Dad was running towards them, and Clark was terribly disappointed. Relieved. Not really sure of how he felt….damn it. “Oh—it’s my dad…”
Lex Luthor looked briefly regretful, a little angry, too. Looking at his expression, Clark would have given anything for his dad to have passed them by. Lex licked his lip again, and Clark watched and sighed.
His dad was standing next to him too soon. “Clark—what—why weren’t you waiting for me at school? Who’s this—oh. Oh.”
The guy slid out of his car again, leaning over it, “Hi, your son just helped me out of a tight spot. I’m Lex Luthor.” He said, and held his hand out, and Dad ignored it, and Clark was embarrassed.
“I know who you are. Let’s go, Clark.”
“Dad!”
Lex made a sinuous shrugging motion that made Clark’s stomach burn. “Don’t worry about it, kid—I’m used to that reaction. People don’t like my dad, so they tend to toss it on me.” He grinned right into Clark’s eyes, heat and something else made them blaze. “They’ll regret that one day. I’ve got a good memory.”
His dad took a step forward, and opened his mouth and Clark got ready to intervene but Lex laughed. “Well, I think this little encounter was a sign—Dad can take his crap factory and shove it. I’d rather take his shit, than deal with attitudes like *that*.” He winked at Clark, as he jerked his head at his dad. “See ya, Clark Kent. Too bad. It would have been—memorable. Legendary, I’m willing to bet.” He winked again, so slow and so hot—so unmistakable what he meant--that Clark nearly forgot to breathe. He jumped back in his Porsche, dust billowed up along the roadside and gravel flew as he tore off again, just as fast as before.
“What the hell was he talking about, Clark?” His dad was staring down the road, red faced and angry.
“I don’t know, Dad, I don’t know.”
Later, Clark looked up Luthor on line and found out why his dad and others hated him—Lionel Luthor was a slimy bastard, and his son seemed to be kind of a mess…drugs, sex, scandal. Clark shivered. He almost got hit on by Lex Luthor. Damn it. He’d almost found out what it was like to…to be wanted. He shivered. It was a thought that attracted him, and frightened him.
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11/3/06 06:30 am (UTC)