SV fic post: East of the Sun part 39
7/13/08 11:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: East of the Sun
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/Clark
Rating:PG
Word Count:2174
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: AU, so very AU
Fair warning, dear readers—the mistakes here are all my own. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
danceswithgary for her encouragement and of course, the lovely cover!
Alex walked about in a fog for a few days after the evening with Clark. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him—and the worst. In one short moment of towering stupidity, he'd made…a sort of commitment to Clark. He'd promised him that he wanted more than just one night, and he'd meant it, but...one look at Clark's face let him know he expected things…like fidelity. And he wanted to give that to Clark, he did. He just didn’t know how he was supposed to do that.
"Mr. Alex. I am finished for the day."
"Thank you Irena. Excellent job as always." He paid his recently hired maid, an expatriate Russian who claimed to be royalty. In Metropolis, he mused, it was hard to throw a stick without hitting some noble, though he had it on good authority from Anna, who owned the café he loved, that most of them were liars. Not like herself, who was authentic Hungarian royalty….
She took the envelope and said with a smile and the barest sketch of a curtsey. "Sir, your flowers I put in a vase on the sideboard. Someone thinks highly of you." She twinkled as he helped her on her coat and pat his hand before she left.
He looked at the huge bouquet of flowers dominating the middle of his coffee table, picked it up, and unmindful of the dripping stems, tossed it in the trash. It was the third bouquet he'd tossed in the trash in as many weeks. He hadn't thrown away the champagne that showed up at his door a few days ago, he wasn't an idiot. He drank that--the man had surprisingly good taste in wines. Alex threw himself down on the couch. Since New Year's Eve, Wade had gotten twitchy and strange. Wallman too, he found him watching with an odd look at times, like there was some secret they shared about Wade—or against Wade. There was something about the bodyguard…something had changed. Alex ground his teeth. This thing was driving him crazy and Wade's odd behavior wasn't making it any better, either. And, try as he might, he couldn't find Bruce. Bruce was all over town, busy as a bee but he was having no luck catching up with him, and why was that?
@@@@@@
Wade had one end of the couch, leaning against the arm, smoking a cigarette and staring through slit eyes at Alex. He lounged like a cat, giving the impression of boneless relaxation that was completely false and that always made Alex uncomfortable, on edge, waiting for him to…to explode, to do something. He reached for his drink, caught Wallman looking at him again. Alex asked Wade, "Does he," jerking his chin towards the guard, "have a name?"
Wade scowled at the silent bodyguard, shifted his cigarette from hand to mouth. "Ye-es. Why?"
"Just curious. I never actually hear you call him by name…say, can't you make him go away?" There seemed to be just the slightest crack in the guard's armor, gone in the blink of an eye, if it had even been there at all. Wade smiled, looked pleased to tell the man to leave.
Alex relaxed a little when the looming presence was gone. Wade stretched, ground out his cigarette slowly and asked Alex to come closer. Alex slid along the couch until they were almost touching. "Did you like the flowers?"
"I threw them away. Flowers…what's with you, hitting the pipe or something? Or maybe the boys are taking over the mortuary business in Metropolis?"
"Just trying to be nice. Thought maybe you might like them."
"Yeah? Well, you thought wrong," Alex snorted. "You think I'm a broad? Stop sending me flowers, fuck. You make me feel…" Alex frowned. Wade smiled.
"All right. I'm just looking for something you like." He stroked a finger across the back of Alex's hand. "Do you like it when I touch you?" He chuckled when Alex shivered. "I like touching you. You don’t feel like anyone else. Touching you makes me hard."
Alex controlled the impulse to jerk his hand away. He hated being treated like that—like he was some kind of nasty fetish. He schooled himself to tolerate whatever came next. Wade just grinned and went on. "You got yourself a little friend, hunh? Well, maybe not so little. The crooner was up here, all night long, I hear. Don't you know you shouldn't shit where you sleep?"
Alex snarled, hoped it passed for a smile. "Speaking of shit, what about you?"
Wade looked surprised, and then…pleased. He laughed. "I'm the boss, remember? Listen, I told you before, I don’t give a fuck what you do when you're not on the clock with me. All I want from you is that when I call, you come." He reached out and grabbed Alex's tie, wound it around his fist until Alex was pressed close to him, face to face. Wade spoke quietly into his ear. "Suck all the dick you want, but tell that palooka from me, mugs who try to muscle me out of mine, get iced."
Ice flooded Alex, raced up his spine. Clark's safety was in his hands. As long as Wade thought it was meaningless…but if the day came he decided Clark was a problem? Shit. Alex thought frantically, if he dumped the boy now, he'd be safe. Push him away hard and he'd always be safe and never know how close he'd been.
What made him think that he could have something good for himself for once? That was why you could never break the rule—it was trouble, through and through. Breaking the rule meant getting broken, and he'd had enough of that to last a lifetime.
@@@@@@@
Wade called after rehearsal and told him—warned him—that he'd be by that evening, to be ready to go out. Wallman was at the door first, as usual. He stepped aside with a sneer and let Wade in, before fading back against the wall.
The club was decorated to look like a cruise ship; a thick ship's rail surrounded the dance floor, club goers in fancy dress were leaning against it, sipping drinks, flirting, making conections. There were palm trees in pots in corners, and walls painted to represent a stylized art deco ocean, turquoise and royal and white. A backdrop of an icy blue sky glowing with sunlight and seabirds flying across it was centered on one side of the blue and white tiled dance floor. Alex grimaced at the sound the house band was producing. They were chugging away at a faux Latin song, substituting maracas and mugging for talent. The waitress' were got up in an insane costumer's idea of Latin dress…they were fun to watch though, as fast and graceful as the dancers on the stage. They navigated the different tiers of the club's floor carrying full trays and made a show of their own.
Alex sat at an upper tier table with Wade and some strange frail who was hanging off Wade like he was her one and only though as far as Alex knew, they'd never met before tonight. She was strictly window dressing--Wade had no eyes for her at all, he seemed entranced by the dancers on the stage—they were doing an intricate tap, flying from one side of the stage to the other and the audience was thrilled.
Nerves made him tight all over, he felt the bloom of sweat between his shoulder blades and the effort of appearing casual was draining. Wade hadn't prepared him at all for the company they'd be in tonight. For the first time since he was a teenager *that day*, he found himself in the same room as Morgan Edge. Uncle Morgan, who'd greeted him with a smile and a hug, heavy arm around his shoulder and clutching his hand--the very picture of avuncular affection. Around them, the soft glow of candlelight revealed quite a few of the top men in the ranks of the Gentlemen. There were women also at the tables, quietly sitting at the side of some of the men; none of them had the look of a wife. They were perfectly made up, marceled and colored hair, dripping with jewels and furs--each one wore the expression of women who knew their places. There were a few young men sitting next to the women and obviously had nothing to do with them—they were alike in custom suits, silk handkerchiefs drooping from pockets, or chrysanthemums in their lapels, perfect manicures and styled hair and one of the boys…Alex did a double take. One of the 'boys' was Beebs.
Beebs sat with a bored look on his face, his eyes slid over Alex with no recognition and Alex felt a flare of anger overcome the chill in him. Fucking Beebs—he'd looked all over, and left word every place he could and he'd never gotten back to him, bastard. And there he sat with his fucking hand in some goon's lap, looking like the cat that got the cream….
Food came and Alex watched Beebs, his stomach clenching with disgust. He was damn thankful to be spared the humiliation of getting tidbits from Wade's plate—something Beebs currently seemed to be enjoying. Alex couldn't help but watch him, his eyes lazy and his tongue dancing over the fingertips of the man who fed him. Wade followed his line of sight and smirked. He dropped his hand to Alex's leg and stroked. "You like that—you like him?"
Alex shuddered. Even with the skirts at the table, there was no way to misinterpret what was going on in that smoky corner, no way to put any other kind of face on it, but no one looked their way—the Gentlemen might as well have been invisible to the crowd. There were no photographers, no newshawks hanging on the outskirts of the group…they knew better. Anything that had to do with the Gentleman was a different world—hands off to the average joe.
"Okay, okay." an elegant looking man was speaking. He was perfectly groomed, polished looking. A veneer of good breeding, Alex thought. His speech gave him away. Gutter, a thug playing at being a gentleman. "I don't get it. What have you got against this move? If we ship horse up there, we're gonna make a killing. It makes money, keeps making money. A fiend will sell his mother for it; he won't do it for pussy or mezz, but for this stuff…"
Alex wished fervently that he wasn't trapped at the table with Wade. He glanced around and caught Beebs' sharp look—it melted into a languid smirk and he stretched in the plush chair he sat in, rolled his head towards the man he sat with.
Morgan smiled. "I have plans for Suicide Slums, and at the moment, smack ain't in the picture. Right now I want what he's got. And I'm going to get it." Morgan looked over at Wade and Wade nodded.
"But…" Another one of the Gentlemen spoke up. "But Royal's had the racket all to his own since he stepped up. It belongs to him. He ain't gonna give it up like that. And you know…it'll be war."
Morgan looked incredulous, and a few of the other bosses took the cue and brayed laughter. "War? War? You call it war when you step on a cockroach, you idiot? We go in, our guys wave their pieces, croak a few smokes, and they'll cave. They got no heart, no balls. And besides, I got my ace here." He smiled at Wade. "If they won't listen to talk, Mahaney'll give King Royal a ticket to the Big One, right?"
Wade smiled back; they held each others eyes long enough for the table to get restless. When the talk shifted to other topics Alex leaned into Wade and asked "What's this about King Royal?"
"Talk about that later," he said, watching Beebs come toward them through narrowed eyes. Alex sat still, waiting to see what was going to happen—there was definitely something in the air, a kind of tension—the sort of tension he'd been feeling himself for weeks. Beebs was trailed by the boss that'd sat at his side all night and openly treated him like a…date. He stopped at their table, smiled at them both and pushed roughly between Wade and the girl. He knelt, reached up and ran his fingers over the back of Wade's neck. "You haven’t called me in a while." The man waiting behind them frowned, his cheeks coloring. Wade glanced at him and smirked for a second. Beebs screwed a fingertip into the sensitive skin under his ear.
Wade flinched. "Cut it out. Yeah, all right. I'll call you soon. I mean it." Beebs smiled and Alex saw that his eyes were cold, flat…even when he looked at him. Wade slipped a cigarette into his mouth, and bit on the end as he lit it. "Whore," he muttered, with a speculative look at Beebs elegant back. Alex thought he saw Beebs flinch….
part 40
TBC
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/Clark
Rating:PG
Word Count:2174
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: AU, so very AU
Fair warning, dear readers—the mistakes here are all my own. Thanks to
danceswithgary for her encouragement and of course, the lovely cover!Alex walked about in a fog for a few days after the evening with Clark. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him—and the worst. In one short moment of towering stupidity, he'd made…a sort of commitment to Clark. He'd promised him that he wanted more than just one night, and he'd meant it, but...one look at Clark's face let him know he expected things…like fidelity. And he wanted to give that to Clark, he did. He just didn’t know how he was supposed to do that.
"Mr. Alex. I am finished for the day."
"Thank you Irena. Excellent job as always." He paid his recently hired maid, an expatriate Russian who claimed to be royalty. In Metropolis, he mused, it was hard to throw a stick without hitting some noble, though he had it on good authority from Anna, who owned the café he loved, that most of them were liars. Not like herself, who was authentic Hungarian royalty….
She took the envelope and said with a smile and the barest sketch of a curtsey. "Sir, your flowers I put in a vase on the sideboard. Someone thinks highly of you." She twinkled as he helped her on her coat and pat his hand before she left.
He looked at the huge bouquet of flowers dominating the middle of his coffee table, picked it up, and unmindful of the dripping stems, tossed it in the trash. It was the third bouquet he'd tossed in the trash in as many weeks. He hadn't thrown away the champagne that showed up at his door a few days ago, he wasn't an idiot. He drank that--the man had surprisingly good taste in wines. Alex threw himself down on the couch. Since New Year's Eve, Wade had gotten twitchy and strange. Wallman too, he found him watching with an odd look at times, like there was some secret they shared about Wade—or against Wade. There was something about the bodyguard…something had changed. Alex ground his teeth. This thing was driving him crazy and Wade's odd behavior wasn't making it any better, either. And, try as he might, he couldn't find Bruce. Bruce was all over town, busy as a bee but he was having no luck catching up with him, and why was that?
@@@@@@
Wade had one end of the couch, leaning against the arm, smoking a cigarette and staring through slit eyes at Alex. He lounged like a cat, giving the impression of boneless relaxation that was completely false and that always made Alex uncomfortable, on edge, waiting for him to…to explode, to do something. He reached for his drink, caught Wallman looking at him again. Alex asked Wade, "Does he," jerking his chin towards the guard, "have a name?"
Wade scowled at the silent bodyguard, shifted his cigarette from hand to mouth. "Ye-es. Why?"
"Just curious. I never actually hear you call him by name…say, can't you make him go away?" There seemed to be just the slightest crack in the guard's armor, gone in the blink of an eye, if it had even been there at all. Wade smiled, looked pleased to tell the man to leave.
Alex relaxed a little when the looming presence was gone. Wade stretched, ground out his cigarette slowly and asked Alex to come closer. Alex slid along the couch until they were almost touching. "Did you like the flowers?"
"I threw them away. Flowers…what's with you, hitting the pipe or something? Or maybe the boys are taking over the mortuary business in Metropolis?"
"Just trying to be nice. Thought maybe you might like them."
"Yeah? Well, you thought wrong," Alex snorted. "You think I'm a broad? Stop sending me flowers, fuck. You make me feel…" Alex frowned. Wade smiled.
"All right. I'm just looking for something you like." He stroked a finger across the back of Alex's hand. "Do you like it when I touch you?" He chuckled when Alex shivered. "I like touching you. You don’t feel like anyone else. Touching you makes me hard."
Alex controlled the impulse to jerk his hand away. He hated being treated like that—like he was some kind of nasty fetish. He schooled himself to tolerate whatever came next. Wade just grinned and went on. "You got yourself a little friend, hunh? Well, maybe not so little. The crooner was up here, all night long, I hear. Don't you know you shouldn't shit where you sleep?"
Alex snarled, hoped it passed for a smile. "Speaking of shit, what about you?"
Wade looked surprised, and then…pleased. He laughed. "I'm the boss, remember? Listen, I told you before, I don’t give a fuck what you do when you're not on the clock with me. All I want from you is that when I call, you come." He reached out and grabbed Alex's tie, wound it around his fist until Alex was pressed close to him, face to face. Wade spoke quietly into his ear. "Suck all the dick you want, but tell that palooka from me, mugs who try to muscle me out of mine, get iced."
Ice flooded Alex, raced up his spine. Clark's safety was in his hands. As long as Wade thought it was meaningless…but if the day came he decided Clark was a problem? Shit. Alex thought frantically, if he dumped the boy now, he'd be safe. Push him away hard and he'd always be safe and never know how close he'd been.
What made him think that he could have something good for himself for once? That was why you could never break the rule—it was trouble, through and through. Breaking the rule meant getting broken, and he'd had enough of that to last a lifetime.
@@@@@@@
Wade called after rehearsal and told him—warned him—that he'd be by that evening, to be ready to go out. Wallman was at the door first, as usual. He stepped aside with a sneer and let Wade in, before fading back against the wall.
The club was decorated to look like a cruise ship; a thick ship's rail surrounded the dance floor, club goers in fancy dress were leaning against it, sipping drinks, flirting, making conections. There were palm trees in pots in corners, and walls painted to represent a stylized art deco ocean, turquoise and royal and white. A backdrop of an icy blue sky glowing with sunlight and seabirds flying across it was centered on one side of the blue and white tiled dance floor. Alex grimaced at the sound the house band was producing. They were chugging away at a faux Latin song, substituting maracas and mugging for talent. The waitress' were got up in an insane costumer's idea of Latin dress…they were fun to watch though, as fast and graceful as the dancers on the stage. They navigated the different tiers of the club's floor carrying full trays and made a show of their own.
Alex sat at an upper tier table with Wade and some strange frail who was hanging off Wade like he was her one and only though as far as Alex knew, they'd never met before tonight. She was strictly window dressing--Wade had no eyes for her at all, he seemed entranced by the dancers on the stage—they were doing an intricate tap, flying from one side of the stage to the other and the audience was thrilled.
Nerves made him tight all over, he felt the bloom of sweat between his shoulder blades and the effort of appearing casual was draining. Wade hadn't prepared him at all for the company they'd be in tonight. For the first time since he was a teenager *that day*, he found himself in the same room as Morgan Edge. Uncle Morgan, who'd greeted him with a smile and a hug, heavy arm around his shoulder and clutching his hand--the very picture of avuncular affection. Around them, the soft glow of candlelight revealed quite a few of the top men in the ranks of the Gentlemen. There were women also at the tables, quietly sitting at the side of some of the men; none of them had the look of a wife. They were perfectly made up, marceled and colored hair, dripping with jewels and furs--each one wore the expression of women who knew their places. There were a few young men sitting next to the women and obviously had nothing to do with them—they were alike in custom suits, silk handkerchiefs drooping from pockets, or chrysanthemums in their lapels, perfect manicures and styled hair and one of the boys…Alex did a double take. One of the 'boys' was Beebs.
Beebs sat with a bored look on his face, his eyes slid over Alex with no recognition and Alex felt a flare of anger overcome the chill in him. Fucking Beebs—he'd looked all over, and left word every place he could and he'd never gotten back to him, bastard. And there he sat with his fucking hand in some goon's lap, looking like the cat that got the cream….
Food came and Alex watched Beebs, his stomach clenching with disgust. He was damn thankful to be spared the humiliation of getting tidbits from Wade's plate—something Beebs currently seemed to be enjoying. Alex couldn't help but watch him, his eyes lazy and his tongue dancing over the fingertips of the man who fed him. Wade followed his line of sight and smirked. He dropped his hand to Alex's leg and stroked. "You like that—you like him?"
Alex shuddered. Even with the skirts at the table, there was no way to misinterpret what was going on in that smoky corner, no way to put any other kind of face on it, but no one looked their way—the Gentlemen might as well have been invisible to the crowd. There were no photographers, no newshawks hanging on the outskirts of the group…they knew better. Anything that had to do with the Gentleman was a different world—hands off to the average joe.
"Okay, okay." an elegant looking man was speaking. He was perfectly groomed, polished looking. A veneer of good breeding, Alex thought. His speech gave him away. Gutter, a thug playing at being a gentleman. "I don't get it. What have you got against this move? If we ship horse up there, we're gonna make a killing. It makes money, keeps making money. A fiend will sell his mother for it; he won't do it for pussy or mezz, but for this stuff…"
Alex wished fervently that he wasn't trapped at the table with Wade. He glanced around and caught Beebs' sharp look—it melted into a languid smirk and he stretched in the plush chair he sat in, rolled his head towards the man he sat with.
Morgan smiled. "I have plans for Suicide Slums, and at the moment, smack ain't in the picture. Right now I want what he's got. And I'm going to get it." Morgan looked over at Wade and Wade nodded.
"But…" Another one of the Gentlemen spoke up. "But Royal's had the racket all to his own since he stepped up. It belongs to him. He ain't gonna give it up like that. And you know…it'll be war."
Morgan looked incredulous, and a few of the other bosses took the cue and brayed laughter. "War? War? You call it war when you step on a cockroach, you idiot? We go in, our guys wave their pieces, croak a few smokes, and they'll cave. They got no heart, no balls. And besides, I got my ace here." He smiled at Wade. "If they won't listen to talk, Mahaney'll give King Royal a ticket to the Big One, right?"
Wade smiled back; they held each others eyes long enough for the table to get restless. When the talk shifted to other topics Alex leaned into Wade and asked "What's this about King Royal?"
"Talk about that later," he said, watching Beebs come toward them through narrowed eyes. Alex sat still, waiting to see what was going to happen—there was definitely something in the air, a kind of tension—the sort of tension he'd been feeling himself for weeks. Beebs was trailed by the boss that'd sat at his side all night and openly treated him like a…date. He stopped at their table, smiled at them both and pushed roughly between Wade and the girl. He knelt, reached up and ran his fingers over the back of Wade's neck. "You haven’t called me in a while." The man waiting behind them frowned, his cheeks coloring. Wade glanced at him and smirked for a second. Beebs screwed a fingertip into the sensitive skin under his ear.
Wade flinched. "Cut it out. Yeah, all right. I'll call you soon. I mean it." Beebs smiled and Alex saw that his eyes were cold, flat…even when he looked at him. Wade slipped a cigarette into his mouth, and bit on the end as he lit it. "Whore," he muttered, with a speculative look at Beebs elegant back. Alex thought he saw Beebs flinch….
part 40
TBC
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