SV fic post: Transference part 10
9/15/07 09:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Transference
Fandom: SV
Pairing: please…
Rating: PG
So…I'm posting this tiny bit because if I don't I'm afraid I never post any of it. You'll definitely need a refresher,
so here are all the previous parts
It was dark, night felt like it was draped thick and hot over the world. Clark kept getting odd little flashes of exhaustion, great jaw-cracking yawns that made his eyes tear. He was so tired, he could barely drag himself over to the couch in the living room. He managed to toe off his shoes, and yawn again, so loud he startled himself. He hoped the landlady wasn't scared by the weird noise; he chuckled and spread himself over the couch.
He had no idea why he was so tired lately—he made it a point to sit on the little balcony while he worked now, soaking up as much sun as possible. He ate—even more than usual, but still he felt exhausted, and any time he dealt with Liam, he felt like a drained battery after. He wondered if it was possible he was developing some new power or something. It was as if something in him was draining his energy—a lot like it had been when he was a teenager. There'd been times he'd just fallen apart, beyond exhausted, after dealing with some meteor flavored disaster, or some thing that Lex had gotten himself involved in—in the old days, when he'd protected Lex, instead of protecting the world from Lex.
Clark yawned and drifted deeper into sleep…he remembered too, how good it was to be with him, how good it was to feel Lex's eyes on him, Lex doing whatever it took to make him happy…when he was sixteen it had been amazing to have someone want to take care of you like that, put your needs first. He realized with a small start that no one he thought he loved had ever had put his desires and needs first quite the same way Lex had, not even Lois. Maybe Dad was right.
Sleep crept up on him so slowly, released his thoughts to roam unfettered…no leash, no check…alone in the warm dark of his apartment he could admit that if Dad was right, he kind of wanted to know…what it would be like with Lex. He hoped that maybe there was a chance—Liam would give him the second chance he wanted.
Lois…Lois would have to know. He couldn’t cheat on her, not physically, not mentally. He'd have to tell her somehow because it was the right thing to do, and because he wasn't about to make Liam *his* dirty secret.
He hoped like hell Lois didn't kill him….
He woke up with his cheek plastered against the stainless steel exam table, one arm curved over his head, the other in his lap. He shivered…the lab was always chilly. Goosebumps bloomed on his arms, and he rubbed the skin briskly…he'd fallen asleep in the lab again. Dad's notes were spread in front of him—he shuddered. Dad had kept extensive notes from his time in prison…when he'd almost killed Clark. The descriptions were vivid--he was most descriptive of his time in Clark's body, obsessively so. Lex had always felt that two things drove his father, a need to control him, and a need to take whatever he had. Helen, Victoria, whoever his dad imagined belonged to him, he'd wanted.
Dad had imagined that Clark had been his.
Lex swept the papers to the floor. They were dry, concise, detailed and he now knew more about Clark's dick then he thought possible.
The lab was in shadows, pools of light here and there around computer stations, equipment—the black granite floors reflected the ceiling back and gave the impression that piping and wires and cables were everywhere, draped over everything like alien viscera. It was eerie; he refused to admit it made him nervous so he walked through the gloom with his head held high.
He moved between a row of glass caskets covered with frost and giving off a greenish glow, making his way to the lone occupant of the tubes. He touched the glass and suppressed a horrified giggle—it reminded him of Snow White's coffin. Under his hand, spread wide on the glass, frost melted to reveal his face.
Lex groaned, and shifted, almost came awake. He was having a nightmare, reliving some terrible event…"don’t do it, Dad," he mumbled. He fought to wake but his mind and body felt heavy, thick. Fear clogged his throat, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn't wake….
His face. A younger, unscarred, untouched version….Lex walked around the…coffin. There was a body never affected by the wish he'd wished, hair floated back from an unlined forehead, lashes swept a cheek pale, smooth as cream…no one had ever hurt this body, taken it's trust, it's faith, it's desire to be valued and twisted it into some grotesque fucked up version of love.
Green fluid bubbled and dripped through the tubes that threaded over and into the body in the coffin. It floated gently, almost incased in the thick gelatinous liquid…meteor rock was an ingredient; he could feel it. It called to him. Kryptonite, helping to make him--the man Dad wanted, a new improved version of Alexander Luthor, one just as doomed.
Lights flickered as he powered down the machinery. With an ominous hiss, the coffin split, and the glass top rose—he shivered. This moment was the moment, the one in a thousand horror movies, that started the beginning of the end. He pressed the button to start the procedures that would bring the body awake….
The clone floated in its bed of thick liquid, needles rose from the edge of the coffin and stabbed the tender flesh cradled in its stainless hold—
It rose with a shriek.
"No, no, Lex…" Clark moaned, sleep muffling his voice. His hand shot up from the couch, grabbed at air and fell back onto his chest. His eyes opened, barely—slid shut and he was asleep again. He didn’t want to sleep.
Lex staggered back. It was a monster. He *knew* it would be a monster. The thing was trying to slither over the side of the coffin, flopping and sliding in the green gel. Its mouth was open wide in a silent scream.
Lex swallowed, and the stone was in his hand, and he reached down to pull the thing up.
It blinked, fluid gluing its long eyelashes together, it made a sound, inquiring, fearful…when its eyes settled on Lex, it…smiled. Reached out for him, clung to him with wet hands. And spoke.
"NO!" Lex thrust the stone into the clone's hand, wrapped his hand around their joined fingers.
He felt it when something came out of him, energy, memory--a soul. Proof left him in a freezing cloud, and when he blinked again, he saw his face, the scarred lip, the lines around his eyes, wide, icy with fear, shock…The wounded lips parted.
Lex screamed, pulled free. He had to stop it speaking, now, and he shot, once, twice, his body jerked and slammed into the table, slid down to the floor—
"…Father, why?"
He turned and saw her with crystal clarity, behind him, in the shadows. His mother, the little crib pillow in her hands, clutching hard enough to turn her knuckles white, so white he expected bone to tear through her skin. "Why? Mother…why?"
Lex shook, nausea rode him. He was the monster, a child of monsters—
Clark moaned steadily in his sleep, tears soaking the fabric of the couch, his fingers worrying deep into the material of it…he jerked, and one finger ripped a long furrow in the fabric…. Someone was torturing Lex.
He murdered an innocent, to steal another chance. Blood ran, poured from his hands, into the sleeves of his white linen jacket…the blood of innocents. He stood on a mountain of bones, in a sea of bones, his foot rested on the skull of a ram, and crows pecked at its lifeless eyes….
Clark woke; tears washed his face when he blinked. He sat up, the light breeze coming in from the balcony dried the sweat that drenched him, made him shiver a little in reflex…he rubbed at his aching eyes, tried to lick lips with a dry tongue. The deep feeling of sorrow, self-loathing still filled him. For long minutes, he fought the urge to do something terrible to himself, to pay for crimes he hadn’t committed. If that's what Lex felt day after day, no wonder he hid so far away, so deep….
Lex had killed; he knew that. Lex had killed to protect--his friends, himself. This…was different. Clark didn't even take a moment to doubt--he knew what he'd dreamt had not been entirely the invention of a tired, groggy mind. He knew the why and he knew how.
He wasn't sure what he should do now. He knew what he wanted to do--and he had lots of practice living a lie….
To be continued, Bob willing, and my brain doesn't shrivel up.
Fandom: SV
Pairing: please…
Rating: PG
So…I'm posting this tiny bit because if I don't I'm afraid I never post any of it. You'll definitely need a refresher,
so here are all the previous parts
It was dark, night felt like it was draped thick and hot over the world. Clark kept getting odd little flashes of exhaustion, great jaw-cracking yawns that made his eyes tear. He was so tired, he could barely drag himself over to the couch in the living room. He managed to toe off his shoes, and yawn again, so loud he startled himself. He hoped the landlady wasn't scared by the weird noise; he chuckled and spread himself over the couch.
He had no idea why he was so tired lately—he made it a point to sit on the little balcony while he worked now, soaking up as much sun as possible. He ate—even more than usual, but still he felt exhausted, and any time he dealt with Liam, he felt like a drained battery after. He wondered if it was possible he was developing some new power or something. It was as if something in him was draining his energy—a lot like it had been when he was a teenager. There'd been times he'd just fallen apart, beyond exhausted, after dealing with some meteor flavored disaster, or some thing that Lex had gotten himself involved in—in the old days, when he'd protected Lex, instead of protecting the world from Lex.
Clark yawned and drifted deeper into sleep…he remembered too, how good it was to be with him, how good it was to feel Lex's eyes on him, Lex doing whatever it took to make him happy…when he was sixteen it had been amazing to have someone want to take care of you like that, put your needs first. He realized with a small start that no one he thought he loved had ever had put his desires and needs first quite the same way Lex had, not even Lois. Maybe Dad was right.
Sleep crept up on him so slowly, released his thoughts to roam unfettered…no leash, no check…alone in the warm dark of his apartment he could admit that if Dad was right, he kind of wanted to know…what it would be like with Lex. He hoped that maybe there was a chance—Liam would give him the second chance he wanted.
Lois…Lois would have to know. He couldn’t cheat on her, not physically, not mentally. He'd have to tell her somehow because it was the right thing to do, and because he wasn't about to make Liam *his* dirty secret.
He hoped like hell Lois didn't kill him….
He woke up with his cheek plastered against the stainless steel exam table, one arm curved over his head, the other in his lap. He shivered…the lab was always chilly. Goosebumps bloomed on his arms, and he rubbed the skin briskly…he'd fallen asleep in the lab again. Dad's notes were spread in front of him—he shuddered. Dad had kept extensive notes from his time in prison…when he'd almost killed Clark. The descriptions were vivid--he was most descriptive of his time in Clark's body, obsessively so. Lex had always felt that two things drove his father, a need to control him, and a need to take whatever he had. Helen, Victoria, whoever his dad imagined belonged to him, he'd wanted.
Dad had imagined that Clark had been his.
Lex swept the papers to the floor. They were dry, concise, detailed and he now knew more about Clark's dick then he thought possible.
The lab was in shadows, pools of light here and there around computer stations, equipment—the black granite floors reflected the ceiling back and gave the impression that piping and wires and cables were everywhere, draped over everything like alien viscera. It was eerie; he refused to admit it made him nervous so he walked through the gloom with his head held high.
He moved between a row of glass caskets covered with frost and giving off a greenish glow, making his way to the lone occupant of the tubes. He touched the glass and suppressed a horrified giggle—it reminded him of Snow White's coffin. Under his hand, spread wide on the glass, frost melted to reveal his face.
Lex groaned, and shifted, almost came awake. He was having a nightmare, reliving some terrible event…"don’t do it, Dad," he mumbled. He fought to wake but his mind and body felt heavy, thick. Fear clogged his throat, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn't wake….
His face. A younger, unscarred, untouched version….Lex walked around the…coffin. There was a body never affected by the wish he'd wished, hair floated back from an unlined forehead, lashes swept a cheek pale, smooth as cream…no one had ever hurt this body, taken it's trust, it's faith, it's desire to be valued and twisted it into some grotesque fucked up version of love.
Green fluid bubbled and dripped through the tubes that threaded over and into the body in the coffin. It floated gently, almost incased in the thick gelatinous liquid…meteor rock was an ingredient; he could feel it. It called to him. Kryptonite, helping to make him--the man Dad wanted, a new improved version of Alexander Luthor, one just as doomed.
Lights flickered as he powered down the machinery. With an ominous hiss, the coffin split, and the glass top rose—he shivered. This moment was the moment, the one in a thousand horror movies, that started the beginning of the end. He pressed the button to start the procedures that would bring the body awake….
The clone floated in its bed of thick liquid, needles rose from the edge of the coffin and stabbed the tender flesh cradled in its stainless hold—
It rose with a shriek.
"No, no, Lex…" Clark moaned, sleep muffling his voice. His hand shot up from the couch, grabbed at air and fell back onto his chest. His eyes opened, barely—slid shut and he was asleep again. He didn’t want to sleep.
Lex staggered back. It was a monster. He *knew* it would be a monster. The thing was trying to slither over the side of the coffin, flopping and sliding in the green gel. Its mouth was open wide in a silent scream.
Lex swallowed, and the stone was in his hand, and he reached down to pull the thing up.
It blinked, fluid gluing its long eyelashes together, it made a sound, inquiring, fearful…when its eyes settled on Lex, it…smiled. Reached out for him, clung to him with wet hands. And spoke.
"NO!" Lex thrust the stone into the clone's hand, wrapped his hand around their joined fingers.
He felt it when something came out of him, energy, memory--a soul. Proof left him in a freezing cloud, and when he blinked again, he saw his face, the scarred lip, the lines around his eyes, wide, icy with fear, shock…The wounded lips parted.
Lex screamed, pulled free. He had to stop it speaking, now, and he shot, once, twice, his body jerked and slammed into the table, slid down to the floor—
"…Father, why?"
He turned and saw her with crystal clarity, behind him, in the shadows. His mother, the little crib pillow in her hands, clutching hard enough to turn her knuckles white, so white he expected bone to tear through her skin. "Why? Mother…why?"
Lex shook, nausea rode him. He was the monster, a child of monsters—
Clark moaned steadily in his sleep, tears soaking the fabric of the couch, his fingers worrying deep into the material of it…he jerked, and one finger ripped a long furrow in the fabric…. Someone was torturing Lex.
He murdered an innocent, to steal another chance. Blood ran, poured from his hands, into the sleeves of his white linen jacket…the blood of innocents. He stood on a mountain of bones, in a sea of bones, his foot rested on the skull of a ram, and crows pecked at its lifeless eyes….
Clark woke; tears washed his face when he blinked. He sat up, the light breeze coming in from the balcony dried the sweat that drenched him, made him shiver a little in reflex…he rubbed at his aching eyes, tried to lick lips with a dry tongue. The deep feeling of sorrow, self-loathing still filled him. For long minutes, he fought the urge to do something terrible to himself, to pay for crimes he hadn’t committed. If that's what Lex felt day after day, no wonder he hid so far away, so deep….
Lex had killed; he knew that. Lex had killed to protect--his friends, himself. This…was different. Clark didn't even take a moment to doubt--he knew what he'd dreamt had not been entirely the invention of a tired, groggy mind. He knew the why and he knew how.
He wasn't sure what he should do now. He knew what he wanted to do--and he had lots of practice living a lie….
To be continued, Bob willing, and my brain doesn't shrivel up.
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9/17/07 12:29 am (UTC)