fic post:Live No life
12/13/06 07:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Live No Life
Author:Roxymissrose
Pairing:Lex/Clark
WIP:: 3/5
Rating: PG
Spoilers: none
Word Count:1902
Summary: Lex and Clark have such influence on each other, whether they know it or not.
Notes: This is the answer to the "A Clexian Tale" challenge. I finally answered it, almost six months later....
So dear I love him that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life.
John Milton
Part One
Part Two
I
Clark glared at him over the breakfast table. “I hate oatmeal. I won’t eat it.”
Lex shook his napkin open, stared at it, and tossed it next to his plate. “Yesterday Clark, you loved oatmeal.”
“I hate it, and I hate you!”
Lex looked up sharply, but Clark’s eyes were full, tears threatening to spill over. “You hate me—you never let me do anything. And you like your friends better than you like me.”
Lex felt, with a shiver of horror, blood flow to his face. “Clark. You’re very important to me—you have to know that--”
Clark leapt up, and the table rocked. “Oh!” He grabbed the table, steadied it, and with a venomous look at Lex, rushed from the room, and Lex was grateful he remembered not to speed. He put his head into his hands and sighed. For the last week, Clark had been difficult. To be precise—he was a brat. He could hear the sound of airborne items coming from Clark’s room, and he sighed heavily. The cook brought him a cup of fresh coffee and sympathy. It was a measure of his exhaustion that he didn’t make a mental note to have her fired; in fact the thought never crossed his mind.
He opened the briefcase he’d stowed under his chair, sent a brief message to his office—he’d work from home today. With half of his attention directed to the part of the apartment that rang with the sound of Clark’s tantrum, and half of his attention directed on what he read, it was a taxing morning. Eventually there was silence from the boy’s room, and he could finally really concentrate. And what he was reading displeased him. There were advantages to the disposal system proposed for factories they’d just purchased in the mid-west—but the drawbacks were significant. Studies showed a slow build-up of pollutants in the soil and nearby water sources surrounding the holding tanks the system proposed…he tossed the sheets onto the table and sipped at his re-warmed coffee. Made a face. This proposal was unacceptable. True, the problems wouldn’t really surface until the next generation—but that no longer seemed an option to him. The thought that the children of the children living today might suffer because of his desire for immediate gain…all he could see was Clark’s face, Clark in pain, and his mouth twisted. Shit.
Lex stood and felt—adrift. Some horrible change was taking place…something was tearing him apart, slowly painfully. It centered in his chest, and hurt, worse when he thought of the surviving Kents. The troublesome irritating irrationality the family caused.
Martha. Fuck. He had to call her…tell her something. He drifted around his study, and his steps took him to the door, and he ended up leaning against the door of the teenage wasteland currently being built sullen brick by sullen brick behind Clark’s door—the guestroom door, god damn it. He could hear music playing and not the music that was current during Clark’s actual adolescent years—it was new…how did they find this stuff? He’d done his best to educate Clark—the right music, art, the right fashions, everything he’d always wanted to give Clark—and instead, he listened to some crap that made ears bleed, played video games, and watched the worst garbage on TV—Lex laughed, and knocked his head against the door. I’m a fucking old person, I’m…
He knocked his head hard against the door. I’m not his father, he’s not a child. Because it would be sick beyond all degrees of sickness to think about him the way I do….
He pulled himself away from the door, and it opened a fraction.
“Lex…?”
“Clark. I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”
Clark peered at him. “Can you come inside please? You haven’t been in my room since—for a long time.”
“Well, thank you for inviting me in.” Clark stood to the side and grinned as he walked past. Lex looked at him. “What?”
“I’m waiting for you to make a comment about the children of the night.”
Lex stopped, eyes wide and a grin lifting one side of his mouth. “I though you slept through that particular movie,” he said, and flushed a little. Clark had fallen asleep—he thought—with his head in his lap, and he’d indulged himself, running his fingers through and though his silky warm hair, only the glow from the screen lighting his features….he hoped Clark didn’t recall that.
Clark blushed hard. “I—I was awake. I heard, and remembered.”
Lex sighed. There was that hope exploded.
Clark dashed past him and leapt onto his bed. Lex looked around at the expensively papered walls, hung over with mysterious posters, bizarre bands, cars, and—his heart squeezed—star charts, on the ceiling, over his bed, just like Clark’s childhood bedroom…a thought intruded on his nostalgia. He asked sharply “Who got you all these—where did they come from?”
“The housekeeper. She has a son my age. I--I mean…” he looked down and swallowed. “I *know* I’m not a kid, but…I feel like one. I know that there are big chunks of my life I don’t remember, and you keep telling me to give it time, but…I want to know! I want to know things now!”
“You’re impatient. You were impatient before, and you’re still impatient.” Lex snapped, unleashing a touch of his own impatience, and silently curses. He truly had meant to be sympathetic. Naturally, contrary as always--instead of looking chastised, Clark grinned and Lex went blind, and deaf, and waited for sense to return. “You’re not listening, Clark.”
“Yes, I am. Lex.” Clark leaned forward, and beckoned Lex closer. He reached out his hand, and Lex took it, so used to the gesture from young Clark, used to being patted by him and hugged by him, and his cheek smeared with sticky damp kisses and it tore him that he missed it so much. He was becoming used to living a schizophrenic life. Again.
“Lex,” Clark went on, “are you…are you my father? Is it because of…whatever is wrong with me, that you don’t want to tell me you’re my father?”
Lex stared, horrified. “God, *no*. you’re not my son.”
Clark jerked back, a look of devastation on his face. “You’re glad. I get it.” His face closed down, emotion fled and he looked blank faced at the wall. Lex shivered—it was chilling to see his expression on Clark’s face. “I would be glad, too. I’m a freak. I do all this weird stuff...like that night I followed your heart beat to the hotel…” a tear rolled down his cheek.
“You’re not my son—it’s better—I’m your best friend in all the world—we’re like brothers. You can think of me as-as your big brother.” Lex heard himself blather like an idiot, and grit his teeth, willing himself to stop.
Clark flung himself back to gaze at Lex, joy lighting his features. “Really? A big brother? That means that you love me, right?” without waiting for conformation, he threw his arms around Lex and hugged him, buried his face in his neck.
“Oh God… yes.” Lex instantly wished to be struck mute.
Clark smiled and closed his eyes. “We are the best friends in the world, and you love me so much you call me brother,” he said, in the tone of a boy repeating an age old story.
Lex spent the next half hour helplessly patting Clark’s back as he napped.
******
Lex--of course--is terribly surprised and disappointed when Clark--of course--flies into a tantrum over lunch the next day. He’s accused again of hating him and not wanting him to have friends, and why can’t he go with the housekeeper’s son to the mall? Two hours, that’s all he wants—and Lex is such a jerk and a control freak and a jerk.
Lex is a little shaken by the vehemence of Clark’s shouted statements. He is unreservedly grateful that Clark is not really a teen, that he can get rid of him any time he wants. He’s under no obligation to protect or provide for this creature, he’s here, alive, only because Lex allows it. He scowls at Clark, his lips pressed in a thin line—the boy is ridiculously upset, his eyes are flashing, he’s cheeks are burning red and he’s…too beautiful.
Lex has also seen the housekeeper’s son—he doesn’t give a flying fuck if the kid is only sixteen. He was not about to trust Clark to that shark.
There.
There it is again.
Lex is angry, with Clark, and most of all himself. He forgets, again and again, that Clark is not human, not his….. He needs to stop treating him like a child.
“Stop treating me like a child!” Clark yells and slams his bedroom door shut. Lex gapes at the door. His eyes narrow. Okay. There was loss of control, and there was acting out. Never once did Clark loose it sufficiently to ruin anything. He’s been rather careful. One might say selective of what he ruined. He suspects that this is active punishment perhaps--disguised as teen angst. Clark and he needed to talk—to negotiate. Lex smiles. On one hand, he’s very proud of Clark, it’s quite a good ploy; on the other hand, he was a past master of this kind of manipulation. He had nothing to loose.
Clark is granted an hour and a half at the mall with the housekeeper’s boy. The housekeeper seems so prepared to open a vein in a bid for forgiveness that Lex’s heart thaws somewhat. Days later, the boy is the recipient of a full ride to a prestigious school upstate…a boarding school. The housekeeper swallows and smiles and thanks Lex repeatedly for the wonderful opportunity given her son.
It satisfies Lex’s need for punishment.
Clark looks at him, silent, glacially cold all the time now. He walks past him, and throws him a sneer and he knows Clark never sneered at anyone in his life--before…he eats dinner quietly, looking, looking right into him…
*****
One day Clark asked for permission to enter Lex’s study, surprised, Lex granted it. Clark had never asked before, he came running in, or walked in like he had a right to—but now he stood at the door, and knocked politely. He came in to stand by the desk, and after a quick glance, sat quietly next to him. After a few minutes—right before Lex felt moved to fill the silence—he spoke. He said softly, “What you did sucked. That was just—just shit.”
“Clark--”
“You’re going to tell me to watch my *mouth* after you broke that woman’s heart? You tore her world apart and she’s afraid to quit, or take her son out of that school because she’s not sure what you’ll do? And what was t he crime? Her kid thinking I was a nice guy? How fucked is that?” He stood and stared at Lex. Said quietly, and sincerely, “I hate you. I really do.”
Lex stared at his desk for long, long minutes after Clark walked out. Finally, he called the housekeeper into the study.
*****
continued in part four
Author:Roxymissrose
Pairing:Lex/Clark
WIP:: 3/5
Rating: PG
Spoilers: none
Word Count:1902
Summary: Lex and Clark have such influence on each other, whether they know it or not.
Notes: This is the answer to the "A Clexian Tale" challenge. I finally answered it, almost six months later....
So dear I love him that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life.
John Milton
Part One
Part Two
I
Clark glared at him over the breakfast table. “I hate oatmeal. I won’t eat it.”
Lex shook his napkin open, stared at it, and tossed it next to his plate. “Yesterday Clark, you loved oatmeal.”
“I hate it, and I hate you!”
Lex looked up sharply, but Clark’s eyes were full, tears threatening to spill over. “You hate me—you never let me do anything. And you like your friends better than you like me.”
Lex felt, with a shiver of horror, blood flow to his face. “Clark. You’re very important to me—you have to know that--”
Clark leapt up, and the table rocked. “Oh!” He grabbed the table, steadied it, and with a venomous look at Lex, rushed from the room, and Lex was grateful he remembered not to speed. He put his head into his hands and sighed. For the last week, Clark had been difficult. To be precise—he was a brat. He could hear the sound of airborne items coming from Clark’s room, and he sighed heavily. The cook brought him a cup of fresh coffee and sympathy. It was a measure of his exhaustion that he didn’t make a mental note to have her fired; in fact the thought never crossed his mind.
He opened the briefcase he’d stowed under his chair, sent a brief message to his office—he’d work from home today. With half of his attention directed to the part of the apartment that rang with the sound of Clark’s tantrum, and half of his attention directed on what he read, it was a taxing morning. Eventually there was silence from the boy’s room, and he could finally really concentrate. And what he was reading displeased him. There were advantages to the disposal system proposed for factories they’d just purchased in the mid-west—but the drawbacks were significant. Studies showed a slow build-up of pollutants in the soil and nearby water sources surrounding the holding tanks the system proposed…he tossed the sheets onto the table and sipped at his re-warmed coffee. Made a face. This proposal was unacceptable. True, the problems wouldn’t really surface until the next generation—but that no longer seemed an option to him. The thought that the children of the children living today might suffer because of his desire for immediate gain…all he could see was Clark’s face, Clark in pain, and his mouth twisted. Shit.
Lex stood and felt—adrift. Some horrible change was taking place…something was tearing him apart, slowly painfully. It centered in his chest, and hurt, worse when he thought of the surviving Kents. The troublesome irritating irrationality the family caused.
Martha. Fuck. He had to call her…tell her something. He drifted around his study, and his steps took him to the door, and he ended up leaning against the door of the teenage wasteland currently being built sullen brick by sullen brick behind Clark’s door—the guestroom door, god damn it. He could hear music playing and not the music that was current during Clark’s actual adolescent years—it was new…how did they find this stuff? He’d done his best to educate Clark—the right music, art, the right fashions, everything he’d always wanted to give Clark—and instead, he listened to some crap that made ears bleed, played video games, and watched the worst garbage on TV—Lex laughed, and knocked his head against the door. I’m a fucking old person, I’m…
He knocked his head hard against the door. I’m not his father, he’s not a child. Because it would be sick beyond all degrees of sickness to think about him the way I do….
He pulled himself away from the door, and it opened a fraction.
“Lex…?”
“Clark. I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”
Clark peered at him. “Can you come inside please? You haven’t been in my room since—for a long time.”
“Well, thank you for inviting me in.” Clark stood to the side and grinned as he walked past. Lex looked at him. “What?”
“I’m waiting for you to make a comment about the children of the night.”
Lex stopped, eyes wide and a grin lifting one side of his mouth. “I though you slept through that particular movie,” he said, and flushed a little. Clark had fallen asleep—he thought—with his head in his lap, and he’d indulged himself, running his fingers through and though his silky warm hair, only the glow from the screen lighting his features….he hoped Clark didn’t recall that.
Clark blushed hard. “I—I was awake. I heard, and remembered.”
Lex sighed. There was that hope exploded.
Clark dashed past him and leapt onto his bed. Lex looked around at the expensively papered walls, hung over with mysterious posters, bizarre bands, cars, and—his heart squeezed—star charts, on the ceiling, over his bed, just like Clark’s childhood bedroom…a thought intruded on his nostalgia. He asked sharply “Who got you all these—where did they come from?”
“The housekeeper. She has a son my age. I--I mean…” he looked down and swallowed. “I *know* I’m not a kid, but…I feel like one. I know that there are big chunks of my life I don’t remember, and you keep telling me to give it time, but…I want to know! I want to know things now!”
“You’re impatient. You were impatient before, and you’re still impatient.” Lex snapped, unleashing a touch of his own impatience, and silently curses. He truly had meant to be sympathetic. Naturally, contrary as always--instead of looking chastised, Clark grinned and Lex went blind, and deaf, and waited for sense to return. “You’re not listening, Clark.”
“Yes, I am. Lex.” Clark leaned forward, and beckoned Lex closer. He reached out his hand, and Lex took it, so used to the gesture from young Clark, used to being patted by him and hugged by him, and his cheek smeared with sticky damp kisses and it tore him that he missed it so much. He was becoming used to living a schizophrenic life. Again.
“Lex,” Clark went on, “are you…are you my father? Is it because of…whatever is wrong with me, that you don’t want to tell me you’re my father?”
Lex stared, horrified. “God, *no*. you’re not my son.”
Clark jerked back, a look of devastation on his face. “You’re glad. I get it.” His face closed down, emotion fled and he looked blank faced at the wall. Lex shivered—it was chilling to see his expression on Clark’s face. “I would be glad, too. I’m a freak. I do all this weird stuff...like that night I followed your heart beat to the hotel…” a tear rolled down his cheek.
“You’re not my son—it’s better—I’m your best friend in all the world—we’re like brothers. You can think of me as-as your big brother.” Lex heard himself blather like an idiot, and grit his teeth, willing himself to stop.
Clark flung himself back to gaze at Lex, joy lighting his features. “Really? A big brother? That means that you love me, right?” without waiting for conformation, he threw his arms around Lex and hugged him, buried his face in his neck.
“Oh God… yes.” Lex instantly wished to be struck mute.
Clark smiled and closed his eyes. “We are the best friends in the world, and you love me so much you call me brother,” he said, in the tone of a boy repeating an age old story.
Lex spent the next half hour helplessly patting Clark’s back as he napped.
******
Lex--of course--is terribly surprised and disappointed when Clark--of course--flies into a tantrum over lunch the next day. He’s accused again of hating him and not wanting him to have friends, and why can’t he go with the housekeeper’s son to the mall? Two hours, that’s all he wants—and Lex is such a jerk and a control freak and a jerk.
Lex is a little shaken by the vehemence of Clark’s shouted statements. He is unreservedly grateful that Clark is not really a teen, that he can get rid of him any time he wants. He’s under no obligation to protect or provide for this creature, he’s here, alive, only because Lex allows it. He scowls at Clark, his lips pressed in a thin line—the boy is ridiculously upset, his eyes are flashing, he’s cheeks are burning red and he’s…too beautiful.
Lex has also seen the housekeeper’s son—he doesn’t give a flying fuck if the kid is only sixteen. He was not about to trust Clark to that shark.
There.
There it is again.
Lex is angry, with Clark, and most of all himself. He forgets, again and again, that Clark is not human, not his….. He needs to stop treating him like a child.
“Stop treating me like a child!” Clark yells and slams his bedroom door shut. Lex gapes at the door. His eyes narrow. Okay. There was loss of control, and there was acting out. Never once did Clark loose it sufficiently to ruin anything. He’s been rather careful. One might say selective of what he ruined. He suspects that this is active punishment perhaps--disguised as teen angst. Clark and he needed to talk—to negotiate. Lex smiles. On one hand, he’s very proud of Clark, it’s quite a good ploy; on the other hand, he was a past master of this kind of manipulation. He had nothing to loose.
Clark is granted an hour and a half at the mall with the housekeeper’s boy. The housekeeper seems so prepared to open a vein in a bid for forgiveness that Lex’s heart thaws somewhat. Days later, the boy is the recipient of a full ride to a prestigious school upstate…a boarding school. The housekeeper swallows and smiles and thanks Lex repeatedly for the wonderful opportunity given her son.
It satisfies Lex’s need for punishment.
Clark looks at him, silent, glacially cold all the time now. He walks past him, and throws him a sneer and he knows Clark never sneered at anyone in his life--before…he eats dinner quietly, looking, looking right into him…
*****
One day Clark asked for permission to enter Lex’s study, surprised, Lex granted it. Clark had never asked before, he came running in, or walked in like he had a right to—but now he stood at the door, and knocked politely. He came in to stand by the desk, and after a quick glance, sat quietly next to him. After a few minutes—right before Lex felt moved to fill the silence—he spoke. He said softly, “What you did sucked. That was just—just shit.”
“Clark--”
“You’re going to tell me to watch my *mouth* after you broke that woman’s heart? You tore her world apart and she’s afraid to quit, or take her son out of that school because she’s not sure what you’ll do? And what was t he crime? Her kid thinking I was a nice guy? How fucked is that?” He stood and stared at Lex. Said quietly, and sincerely, “I hate you. I really do.”
Lex stared at his desk for long, long minutes after Clark walked out. Finally, he called the housekeeper into the study.
*****
continued in part four
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
12/14/06 05:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
12/15/06 01:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
12/14/06 11:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
12/15/06 01:18 am (UTC)Thanks so much!
(no subject)
12/14/06 08:50 pm (UTC)Such a pain in the butt! What a little sod! I adore you for inflicting this on Lex. He must really love the guy. But, Lex..... CALL MARTHA. She's gonna be so pissed when she finds out he's been keeping this from her!
And brothers? Lex, c'mon! Not again! You're kidding no one.
(no subject)
12/15/06 01:19 am (UTC)*whispers* and seriously---kidding no one! *G*
(no subject)
12/14/06 10:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
12/15/06 01:19 am (UTC)*ded*
12/15/06 03:14 am (UTC)Lex, Lex, Lex...
And Clark, you little sh*t. *eg*
I love it, all!
And I love you!
*SMOOCHESYOU*
ETA - LJ, you freakin' peice of ****, post this already!
*sigh* Your LJ, too, Roxy? ;/
Re: *ded*
12/15/06 04:16 am (UTC)And yes, my LJ too, lovey--it really sucks so much!
*HUGHUG*
(no subject)
12/15/06 08:38 am (UTC)This part especially...
Clark jerked back, a look of devastation on his face. “You’re glad. I get it.” His face closed down, emotion fled and he looked blank faced at the wall. Lex shivered—it was chilling to see his expression on Clark’s face. “I would be glad, too. I’m a freak. I do all this weird stuff...like that night I followed your heart beat to the hotel…” a tear rolled down his cheek.
“You’re not my son—it’s better—I’m your best friend in all the world—we’re like brothers. You can think of me as-as your big brother.” Lex heard himself blather like an idiot, and grit his teeth, willing himself to stop.
OHhh. I had to stop after that part because you had me crying for the both of them. *cries more*
(no subject)
1/9/07 05:44 am (UTC)First.
Clark. I don't like oatmeal either. At least, not the american way with sugar and syrup. Nope. It's better with salt and pepper, like any good celt would eat it! *snerks* (well it is, really). (At least I think so.)
Oh, look how you have changed, Lex? And he knows it, doesn't he, poor dear, yes - because you tell us he does. And he just doesn't know how to deal with it except--push it aside. Compartmentalize. Rationalize.
Word. Clark always will be. How could he not? He can move so quickly, think far more quickly -- it's just natural that he'd want instant gratification. From everything and everyone.
Hah. Oh he hates Lex, doesn't he? Because Lex won't tell him what he really knows is the truth. Not father. Not brothers. More. And Lex knows it too, else why would he want to kick himself for repeating that line? It didn't work before.
He knows it's not going to work now.
I did wonder why Lex never called Martha -- but not for long. How could he? He'd have to give Clark up then, and regardless of how messed up things are, there's just no way he wants that to happen ever.
I love Lex so much. Such a control freak.
(love you too, for writing this and showing it and making it seem real.:)
(no subject)
1/9/07 06:28 am (UTC)And yes, you're right!
I did wonder why Lex never called Martha -- but not for long. How could he? He'd have to give Clark up then, and regardless of how messed up things are, there's just no way he wants that to happen ever.
*nodnodnod*
Oh yes, absolutely.
(no subject)
8/16/07 03:22 am (UTC)