sv fic post: East of the Sun part 33
6/7/08 02:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: East of the Sun
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/Wade, Lex/Beebs, eventually clex, because there is nothing else
Rating:R
Word Count:2137
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: my version of the swing era.
Clark was happy. For the first time since he'd left Smallville, he was really… happy. Not even guilt about Chloe could squash this warm feeling. He shimmied into the only underwear he had left, an old fashioned union suit, and swore he'd do laundry that week—tomorrow—no putting it off this time. If his mother knew that he was wearing something she wouldn't put the dog's dinner in…tomorrow he'd do laundry for sure. At least he still had clean socks, he thought, and dropped to his bed to pull them on. He yanked a sweater over his head, and slid into a pair of grey flannel pants…slowed to admire the evening wear hanging from the clothes hook. He might look any average joe right now but he was going to look snazzy tonight. Just like Fred Astaire. He wondered if Alex liked Fred Astaire….
The shirt glowed snow-white under the black coat; the strip of bowtie looped around the collar gleamed like onyx. Alex had been after him ever since Walt lent him the money to buy his first suit to let him buy another for him, and Clark had finally agreed because now, he knew what Alex really meant. Not just, "Let me buy you a suit." He meant, "I care for you and I don’t have a lot of ways to show it, so let me do this for you." And that's what finally let him say yes--yes to the suit and if he got lucky that way too, yes to the man.
He fastened up the rest of the union suit's buttons, and tossed the suit pants on the bed. He trained his heat vision on his hand until it felt warm, then quickly whisked his palm over the hanger crease. "Ta-Da!" He grinned at his freshly pressed pants, and laid them to one side.
The sound of premature celebration brought him to the window. He peered out to the street; it seemed his neighbors were starting to celebrate the New Year a few hours early.
He leaned on the window sill and watched the commotion below with a rueful wince. There was nothing he could do at the moment—he just hoped they'd refrain from killing each other until after the show tonight. His gaze lifted from the street, out over the rooftops and as the stars wink alive one by one, he smiled. He watched for a bit, caught up in his thoughts before shaking himself—getting late. He hurried to finish dressing, slicked his hair back and took a tiny bottle from his bedside table. He dribbled a bit of fluid from it and rubbed it along his jaw, sniffed appreciatively. Smelled good—like sandalwood. He hoped Alex liked it. He stopped…smiled. Here he was, on the eve of something big, something he knew was going to change his life, and change Alex's life, he hoped. He took a small, flat bottle of whiskey from his pantry/cupboard, held it up to the light with a smile. He'd bought it for company, as in Alex coming to visit again. Some day soon, hopefully. In the mean time….
He poured a tiny bit, the amber tinted liquid barely covering the bottom of his glass. He raised it, with a small smile said, "Here's to 1938. It's going to be a good year—I *know* it."
@@@@@@@
"All right, all right, quit muggin', ya mooks, we ain't got all night." Walt sighed and leaned against the music stand. "Are you ready?
The guys were frisking, playing off each other, trying to top each other. Chloe was scatting with the melodies that flipped and wavered in the air and she danced while she sang along, flipping her wide skirt around her knees in a mock flapper style dance. The guys were laughing, and Clark was grinning, tapping his feet and watching her from his perch on the edge of the stage. "Swing, Chloe, swing!" She twirled around and around until she fell against him with a wide grin, twined her arms around his neck and finished up with a hammy wink.
The band riffed and rambled, and suddenly Pete jumped up from the piano bench--pounded the keys as he broke into a corny old folk song, Little Brown Jug--Pete jazzed it up with a roadhouse roll and the guys picked it up and chugged along. Walt threw up his hands and let them go at it. "Gwan, get out your systems—kee-rist." He lit a cigarette and settled a long suffering look on his face…but he was tapping right along with the beat.
The fast, pounding beat gave the old tune a different sound—new, exciting, and Alex jumped up on the stage, stood next to Pete and let the clarinet swing out. Pete shouted out the chorus, the rest of the band right with him. It was fast, it was fun and totally infectious. Walt was tapping his feet and frowning, writing on the pad laying on the stand.
Clark startled everyone by leaping off the stage and into a silly dance, and then, bursting into song--he knew all the words. At the chorus, he grabbed Chloe's hands and they started a gallumping dance all about the room, singing, "Ha-ha ha, you and me, little brown jug, don’t I love thee—"
Alex watched the two singers act out, eyes narrowed. When Clark and Chloe came dancing close to them, he laid the clarinet on the piano and grabbed Clark away from Chloe, swung him in a big circle and trapped him in his arms. He began dancing, pulling Clark along. Clark looked shocked and then—delighted. He laughed and began singing again, while the guys laughed and played on…
"Okay, okay, let's go—cool out, everybody, let's get with the program--leading off sweet and then we swing hot and close out with Green Eyes—what Clark?"
"How about When or Where?" He glanced down into Alex's eyes with a small smile.
Walt growled, "How about I kick your ass to the moon? What the hell was all the pissin' and moanin' about? Now you wanna sing—Alex. Hold me back, I might strangle—we ain't ready to change."
Alex smiled and stepped back from Clark. "No, I think that we can do this…" He crossed to the piano, smiled down at Pete, who held the clarinet out to him. He took it up, licked his lips slowly, lipped the mouthpiece, all the while, his eyes on Clark. Clark watched him, his own mouth slightly parted, eyes widening and then dropping a bit. He nodded when Alex said softly, "Let's go…"
Alex closed his eyes, the sound he made started low, slowly the notes spiraled up and up until it became too sweet to hear, and broke, and then swooped low, stole around the melody the band played. Clark's heart thumped listening to Lex; his cheeks grew pink listening to Lex's heart as he played. When he began singing, he closed his own eyes, and kept his back to Alex…
"All right, all right, we'll close with that—Green Eyes right before and if anyone changes anything else, they're outa here. Now, take that from the top, and Chloe, let me see you over here a minute…"
@@@@@
They broke up, and Walt yelled, "Be back here at nine," and was treated to various forms of profane agreement. Chloe hugged Clark and said something, grabbed her coat, winked at Alex, blew him a kiss and was gone, and then it was only Alex and Clark.
"So, are you going to wear the suit tonight?" Alex asked, in a casual way that might have fooled Clark a few months ago, but not now. Now, he figured he was an expert at Alex.
"Of course. It's in the big dressing room, waiting to make me look like Fred Astaire. Alex made a little face, and Clark quickly said, "Cary Grant?"
Alex laughed. "We'll see. Personally, I think Grant would lamp you and wish he could look as classy." Clark grinned happily at the compliment. They walked into the dressing room and Alex smiled at the suit carefully hung away from the others, freshly polished shoes under it.
"Where's yours?"
He glanced down and away, not meeting Clark's eyes. "Changing at home, taking a cab back." He leaned against the counter that ran the length of one wall. He stared at the row of suits and gowns the club's dancers would be wearing come evening, not really seeing much more than light gleaming off the sequins and beads on the costumes…
"Oh." Clark stared at the floor, watching his feet as he coincidently meandered closer and closer. He leaned on the counter too, a few feet from Alex, and scooted down the length of it until he was coincidently bumping shoulders and hips with Alex and Alex sighed, shook his head--grabbed Clark. He kissed him and Clark gratefully gave in. He let Alex press until he opened his mouth, and the cool then warm, touch of his tongue to Clark's was electric. Clark felt warmer and warmer, his lips opening, wanting more…it was as good as the last kiss, better…even better was the touch of Alex's hands. They slid his polo shirt out of his waistband, and inched under it—naked hands on his naked back—the thought made him shudder. He blushed—he was getting stiff again. He twisted his hips a little, trying to move his erection away from Alex and brushed against his hip instead—it made him moan, and buck slightly against him. Alex blew out a soft laugh against Clark's ear, and cupped his hip, holding him still. "Shhhh, Clark…"
Clark felt frustrated--Alex was always trying to make him be quiet—he wanted to yell, to shout how good it all felt. "Alex, oh, I wanted to kiss you so bad. I've been thinking about it, kissing you, touching you…" Alex moaned something that might have been yes, bit at his neck. Clark groaned and pushed against Alex until they touched everywhere, each part of one fitting into the other like a puzzle. Clark was lost in the perfect way they fit together. Clark's shirt was pulled over his head, shoved behind his neck, Alex's was open to his belt, no undershirt beneath it and Clark moaned as he smoothed his palm over Alex's glistening chest…he pinched pink nipples carefully, until Alex ground against him. "Stop!"
Clark whispered sorry and to make up for it, leaned close and licked them, soothed them—again Alex moaned, "stop, stop." But his hands slipped between them and wrestled Clark's buttons open--his pants dropped to his calves. Alex sighed happily and palmed Clark, squeezed him…the thin material of the union suit let him wrap his hand around Clark, jerk him slowly.
Clark groaned against the slide of cotton and the pressure on him—the amazing feel of Alex almost, almost holding him in his hand and then, Alex was on his knees, gazing at the heavy sway of Clark's cock beneath the thin, wet cotton. A dark spot outlined the tip and he bent to press a kiss there, the tip of his tongue dancing over it to taste, caress. Clark cried out, and tried hard not to think about what Alex was doing, so afraid of coming, trying to push the over-whelming feeling away. Alex bit down gently, just holding the thick heat between his teeth, tongue outlining what he could, and Clark moaned, his hips jerked…Alex smiled up at him and pulled the sides of the material apart, and licked what he could between the buttons and Clark's knees gave. Alex maneuvered flesh and material until the tip of Clark's cock was between his lips, and he sucked out the drops that had collected there. Clark shouted, "Alex, Alex, Lex—Lex!" his cock pushed, strained against the trap of cotton, he was going to come, now, right…right… he jerked away. "No!"
Quick as a shot, Alex rose in one graceful move from the floor, in seconds he was standing, walking away from Clark, he was tucking, smoothing, pulling a mask over his face, until only damp pink cheeks gave away that he'd been so affected by Clark…"Of course, it was too much, too fast. I'm sorry. I'd never force anything on you…I'm sure Chloe's waiting."
"No, that's not what I meant, not *stop*, just…" Clark's chest heaved, and he groaned. "Not on the floor in this dirty room. I'm probably being corny, but I want clean sheets, and time, and room and to hold you and to—to love you the—the right way—"
Alex released his iron control so suddenly he nearly fell. He gasped, "Oh! Oh, yes, me too," he babbled, "I want space, and—and sheets, and—breakfast in bed and. Shit, all that corny stuff. I want it too."
Clark rushed forward, grabbed Alex and pulled him close. Kissed him hard. "Then tonight, okay, tonight, after the show, we'll do all that, and have all that. Lex, Alex, I love you," he crowed, and was gone like he'd never been there at all. Alex stood alone in the middle of the dressing room, his hands out, mouth open in shock, and the words he'd been trying to speak tumbled out.
"…but not tonight, Clark it can't, tonight. It can't…"
Glen Miller recorded Little Brown Jug in 1939. I'm pretending that Walt's band played it first.
part 34
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/Wade, Lex/Beebs, eventually clex, because there is nothing else
Rating:R
Word Count:2137
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: my version of the swing era.
Clark was happy. For the first time since he'd left Smallville, he was really… happy. Not even guilt about Chloe could squash this warm feeling. He shimmied into the only underwear he had left, an old fashioned union suit, and swore he'd do laundry that week—tomorrow—no putting it off this time. If his mother knew that he was wearing something she wouldn't put the dog's dinner in…tomorrow he'd do laundry for sure. At least he still had clean socks, he thought, and dropped to his bed to pull them on. He yanked a sweater over his head, and slid into a pair of grey flannel pants…slowed to admire the evening wear hanging from the clothes hook. He might look any average joe right now but he was going to look snazzy tonight. Just like Fred Astaire. He wondered if Alex liked Fred Astaire….
The shirt glowed snow-white under the black coat; the strip of bowtie looped around the collar gleamed like onyx. Alex had been after him ever since Walt lent him the money to buy his first suit to let him buy another for him, and Clark had finally agreed because now, he knew what Alex really meant. Not just, "Let me buy you a suit." He meant, "I care for you and I don’t have a lot of ways to show it, so let me do this for you." And that's what finally let him say yes--yes to the suit and if he got lucky that way too, yes to the man.
He fastened up the rest of the union suit's buttons, and tossed the suit pants on the bed. He trained his heat vision on his hand until it felt warm, then quickly whisked his palm over the hanger crease. "Ta-Da!" He grinned at his freshly pressed pants, and laid them to one side.
The sound of premature celebration brought him to the window. He peered out to the street; it seemed his neighbors were starting to celebrate the New Year a few hours early.
He leaned on the window sill and watched the commotion below with a rueful wince. There was nothing he could do at the moment—he just hoped they'd refrain from killing each other until after the show tonight. His gaze lifted from the street, out over the rooftops and as the stars wink alive one by one, he smiled. He watched for a bit, caught up in his thoughts before shaking himself—getting late. He hurried to finish dressing, slicked his hair back and took a tiny bottle from his bedside table. He dribbled a bit of fluid from it and rubbed it along his jaw, sniffed appreciatively. Smelled good—like sandalwood. He hoped Alex liked it. He stopped…smiled. Here he was, on the eve of something big, something he knew was going to change his life, and change Alex's life, he hoped. He took a small, flat bottle of whiskey from his pantry/cupboard, held it up to the light with a smile. He'd bought it for company, as in Alex coming to visit again. Some day soon, hopefully. In the mean time….
He poured a tiny bit, the amber tinted liquid barely covering the bottom of his glass. He raised it, with a small smile said, "Here's to 1938. It's going to be a good year—I *know* it."
@@@@@@@
"All right, all right, quit muggin', ya mooks, we ain't got all night." Walt sighed and leaned against the music stand. "Are you ready?
The guys were frisking, playing off each other, trying to top each other. Chloe was scatting with the melodies that flipped and wavered in the air and she danced while she sang along, flipping her wide skirt around her knees in a mock flapper style dance. The guys were laughing, and Clark was grinning, tapping his feet and watching her from his perch on the edge of the stage. "Swing, Chloe, swing!" She twirled around and around until she fell against him with a wide grin, twined her arms around his neck and finished up with a hammy wink.
The band riffed and rambled, and suddenly Pete jumped up from the piano bench--pounded the keys as he broke into a corny old folk song, Little Brown Jug--Pete jazzed it up with a roadhouse roll and the guys picked it up and chugged along. Walt threw up his hands and let them go at it. "Gwan, get out your systems—kee-rist." He lit a cigarette and settled a long suffering look on his face…but he was tapping right along with the beat.
The fast, pounding beat gave the old tune a different sound—new, exciting, and Alex jumped up on the stage, stood next to Pete and let the clarinet swing out. Pete shouted out the chorus, the rest of the band right with him. It was fast, it was fun and totally infectious. Walt was tapping his feet and frowning, writing on the pad laying on the stand.
Clark startled everyone by leaping off the stage and into a silly dance, and then, bursting into song--he knew all the words. At the chorus, he grabbed Chloe's hands and they started a gallumping dance all about the room, singing, "Ha-ha ha, you and me, little brown jug, don’t I love thee—"
Alex watched the two singers act out, eyes narrowed. When Clark and Chloe came dancing close to them, he laid the clarinet on the piano and grabbed Clark away from Chloe, swung him in a big circle and trapped him in his arms. He began dancing, pulling Clark along. Clark looked shocked and then—delighted. He laughed and began singing again, while the guys laughed and played on…
"Okay, okay, let's go—cool out, everybody, let's get with the program--leading off sweet and then we swing hot and close out with Green Eyes—what Clark?"
"How about When or Where?" He glanced down into Alex's eyes with a small smile.
Walt growled, "How about I kick your ass to the moon? What the hell was all the pissin' and moanin' about? Now you wanna sing—Alex. Hold me back, I might strangle—we ain't ready to change."
Alex smiled and stepped back from Clark. "No, I think that we can do this…" He crossed to the piano, smiled down at Pete, who held the clarinet out to him. He took it up, licked his lips slowly, lipped the mouthpiece, all the while, his eyes on Clark. Clark watched him, his own mouth slightly parted, eyes widening and then dropping a bit. He nodded when Alex said softly, "Let's go…"
Alex closed his eyes, the sound he made started low, slowly the notes spiraled up and up until it became too sweet to hear, and broke, and then swooped low, stole around the melody the band played. Clark's heart thumped listening to Lex; his cheeks grew pink listening to Lex's heart as he played. When he began singing, he closed his own eyes, and kept his back to Alex…
"All right, all right, we'll close with that—Green Eyes right before and if anyone changes anything else, they're outa here. Now, take that from the top, and Chloe, let me see you over here a minute…"
@@@@@
They broke up, and Walt yelled, "Be back here at nine," and was treated to various forms of profane agreement. Chloe hugged Clark and said something, grabbed her coat, winked at Alex, blew him a kiss and was gone, and then it was only Alex and Clark.
"So, are you going to wear the suit tonight?" Alex asked, in a casual way that might have fooled Clark a few months ago, but not now. Now, he figured he was an expert at Alex.
"Of course. It's in the big dressing room, waiting to make me look like Fred Astaire. Alex made a little face, and Clark quickly said, "Cary Grant?"
Alex laughed. "We'll see. Personally, I think Grant would lamp you and wish he could look as classy." Clark grinned happily at the compliment. They walked into the dressing room and Alex smiled at the suit carefully hung away from the others, freshly polished shoes under it.
"Where's yours?"
He glanced down and away, not meeting Clark's eyes. "Changing at home, taking a cab back." He leaned against the counter that ran the length of one wall. He stared at the row of suits and gowns the club's dancers would be wearing come evening, not really seeing much more than light gleaming off the sequins and beads on the costumes…
"Oh." Clark stared at the floor, watching his feet as he coincidently meandered closer and closer. He leaned on the counter too, a few feet from Alex, and scooted down the length of it until he was coincidently bumping shoulders and hips with Alex and Alex sighed, shook his head--grabbed Clark. He kissed him and Clark gratefully gave in. He let Alex press until he opened his mouth, and the cool then warm, touch of his tongue to Clark's was electric. Clark felt warmer and warmer, his lips opening, wanting more…it was as good as the last kiss, better…even better was the touch of Alex's hands. They slid his polo shirt out of his waistband, and inched under it—naked hands on his naked back—the thought made him shudder. He blushed—he was getting stiff again. He twisted his hips a little, trying to move his erection away from Alex and brushed against his hip instead—it made him moan, and buck slightly against him. Alex blew out a soft laugh against Clark's ear, and cupped his hip, holding him still. "Shhhh, Clark…"
Clark felt frustrated--Alex was always trying to make him be quiet—he wanted to yell, to shout how good it all felt. "Alex, oh, I wanted to kiss you so bad. I've been thinking about it, kissing you, touching you…" Alex moaned something that might have been yes, bit at his neck. Clark groaned and pushed against Alex until they touched everywhere, each part of one fitting into the other like a puzzle. Clark was lost in the perfect way they fit together. Clark's shirt was pulled over his head, shoved behind his neck, Alex's was open to his belt, no undershirt beneath it and Clark moaned as he smoothed his palm over Alex's glistening chest…he pinched pink nipples carefully, until Alex ground against him. "Stop!"
Clark whispered sorry and to make up for it, leaned close and licked them, soothed them—again Alex moaned, "stop, stop." But his hands slipped between them and wrestled Clark's buttons open--his pants dropped to his calves. Alex sighed happily and palmed Clark, squeezed him…the thin material of the union suit let him wrap his hand around Clark, jerk him slowly.
Clark groaned against the slide of cotton and the pressure on him—the amazing feel of Alex almost, almost holding him in his hand and then, Alex was on his knees, gazing at the heavy sway of Clark's cock beneath the thin, wet cotton. A dark spot outlined the tip and he bent to press a kiss there, the tip of his tongue dancing over it to taste, caress. Clark cried out, and tried hard not to think about what Alex was doing, so afraid of coming, trying to push the over-whelming feeling away. Alex bit down gently, just holding the thick heat between his teeth, tongue outlining what he could, and Clark moaned, his hips jerked…Alex smiled up at him and pulled the sides of the material apart, and licked what he could between the buttons and Clark's knees gave. Alex maneuvered flesh and material until the tip of Clark's cock was between his lips, and he sucked out the drops that had collected there. Clark shouted, "Alex, Alex, Lex—Lex!" his cock pushed, strained against the trap of cotton, he was going to come, now, right…right… he jerked away. "No!"
Quick as a shot, Alex rose in one graceful move from the floor, in seconds he was standing, walking away from Clark, he was tucking, smoothing, pulling a mask over his face, until only damp pink cheeks gave away that he'd been so affected by Clark…"Of course, it was too much, too fast. I'm sorry. I'd never force anything on you…I'm sure Chloe's waiting."
"No, that's not what I meant, not *stop*, just…" Clark's chest heaved, and he groaned. "Not on the floor in this dirty room. I'm probably being corny, but I want clean sheets, and time, and room and to hold you and to—to love you the—the right way—"
Alex released his iron control so suddenly he nearly fell. He gasped, "Oh! Oh, yes, me too," he babbled, "I want space, and—and sheets, and—breakfast in bed and. Shit, all that corny stuff. I want it too."
Clark rushed forward, grabbed Alex and pulled him close. Kissed him hard. "Then tonight, okay, tonight, after the show, we'll do all that, and have all that. Lex, Alex, I love you," he crowed, and was gone like he'd never been there at all. Alex stood alone in the middle of the dressing room, his hands out, mouth open in shock, and the words he'd been trying to speak tumbled out.
"…but not tonight, Clark it can't, tonight. It can't…"
Glen Miller recorded Little Brown Jug in 1939. I'm pretending that Walt's band played it first.
part 34
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(no subject)
6/7/08 04:37 pm (UTC)There will be a happy ending but--*shades eyes and points* it's waaaaay over there!