SV: The Lonely part 2/10
8/24/09 10:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: The Lonely
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Kal/Lex
Rating: over all--R
Word Count: 1841
Spoilers: none
Summary: Lex Luthor destroyed one world and crippled another for the sake of humanity. Of course humanity was incapable of understanding the gift he'd given them. Now he was sentenced to pay the price, a lifetime on his very own planet, without the company of other human beings….
Notes/Warnings: language, tantrums, sexual situations …I don’t even have to warn you about M/M sex, right?
This is my failed Big Bang attempt. It's most definitely a WIP. I'm hoping to come up to a good finish--*koff*. I promise there will be an ending—even if they just get on a bus and go to the seashore….
Morning came, and he decided that the spot they dropped the boxes in was not the ideal place to make a camp—the spot above the small stream was flat, sheltered on one side by the rock spires, close to clean water…he walked around the area. It should do. He only needed to drag the crates from the landing to here. He narrowed his eyes at the rock strewn hill. Right. No problem….
He never imagined himself a beast of burden. There were some points in his life that he'd had to perform manual labor—Mother's ranch…the Kent farm…the island….he winced. Yes, the island. He doubted it would come to that…level of insanity. He was fairly certain his jailors wanted him to remain as sane as possible, or what would their punishment come to? But….
Work was good, he reminded himself, and dragged the crate over the sandy soil. A flattened crate performed duty as a sled, the apparently indestructible overalls a yoke of sorts. Unfortunately his body was nowhere near as indestructible as the overalls. By the end of the day, he had burns on his shoulders—on top of the burns, he had blisters on feet and arms and shoulders and he was nauseous from the never-ending, oppressive, heat.
"Really, this is ridiculous. This is torture, pure and simple—torture, you hear me? I know you're broadcasting this—this dog and pony show to the worlds." Lex flipped 'them' off, and staggered down to the river. He dropped his clothes on the bank, and fumbled his way over slick rocks until he was thigh deep in the water. He breathed out a great sigh of relief. This planet might not have been as dry as no doubt his captors had hoped for, but it was hot as hell, and the cool moving water was almost as good as a full body massage. He rinsed and rubbed grime off as well as he could, and then did the same to his clothes. He sighed again as he wrung out the bright green clothing and spread them on rocks to dry, muttered to himself, "Torture, pure and simple."
~~oOo~~
The morning sun rose over the hills and Lex marveled at how for a short while, the place was almost…pretty. Sunlight made minerals in the rocks dance with light, so that it looked like they were studded with diamonds, the colors in the sand—purple, red, bronze—glittered under the butter yellow sun. Slowly, the heat made its presence known, but for a bit, Lex sat peacefully and watched the world change.
By late afternoon, he'd found crates that contained a flexible shelter, one that inflated itself, for which he was extremely grateful. Once it was fully inflated, Lex hooked the separate sections together, and ended up with a three room shelter—one without a bath, the bastards. He found a foam that was supposed to be injected in the walls of the shelter, once injected, it expanded and hardened, making the shelter rigid. Now it was more like a hut, and less like a tent. He found also, that the foam could be sprayed on the walls and he had a window in which the foam stayed soft, and could be smoothed, shaped. Working slowly but surely, he ended up with a smooth walled, cool sort of…cave. He promptly dubbed it the Flintstone house. Or depending on his mood, the Flintstone house of pain.
Using a manual so generously provided, and the tools also, he spent a few lively days constructing an outhouse. It was while doing that, digging a deep hole in the ground, and planning for which way to go when digging the next, he realized that there would be a need for new holes. That he would never not need an outhouse, that his shiny tools and gadgets would eventually stop working…that maybe his supply drops would stop, that some day, he might be forgotten…that he was more than likely meant to die, alone, on this ball of roasting dust….
Lex crouched in the bottom of the hole he'd dug, rubbed blistered, bleeding hands over his face and swore he wouldn't cry, but his body won the victory over his will, and he sobbed, cried hard, loud, and long, all alone, at the bottom of the magnificent hole he'd dug. Down in the cool and quiet, he lamented, he mourned the loss of all he'd had. "Clark, what you did to me. Clark," he sobbed. "Did you know what they were going to do…I can't believe that." his head fell back against the wall of the hole. "I know you wouldn't throw me here, not after the Phantom Zone. Not after that. "
After a while he pulled himself together, and worked his way back up the ladder, back into his hut. He lay down in the bedroom, atop an undressed mattress and rubbed his raw, red eyes. He'd never sleep, not like this, not so full of sorrow….
~~oOo~~
A few hours later, Lex was startled out of a deep dreamless sleep by a heart-stopping scream. Something was clawing at the walls and doors of the hut, fighting to get in and Lex was certain it wasn't driven by curiosity, whatever it was. He rolled upright on the mattress, and wrapped arms around himself, scrabbled back on the mattress until he was flush against the wall. whatever was out there was dangerous—absolutely *not* an insectivorous aardvark. Thank goodness it couldn't claw through stone. The walls of the hut were just as stiff and unyielding as granite, and wrapping himself up in a blanket, he thanked his vacuous, under-informed, persecuting jailors for doing at least one thing right.
Morning found Lex examining the outside of his shelter. The walls might have been unyielding as rock, but still, it had gouged a few shallow scratches into the material, and the ground around it was scored with claw marks. Lex exhaled noisily.
"Well. No evening drinks on the veranda, certainly. My sincerest thanks to whoever came up with the surfacing for this little dump." He patted the white wall thankfully. "I think you saved my life, Flintstone house…but you're still ugly as sin."
~~oOo~~
Time passed and Lex amused himself playing Robinson Crusoe. He'd managed to create a garden with amendments he found in the crates to enrich the dusty soil, and planted the seed he'd found, all with the help of gardening manuals he'd also been so thoughtfully provided. So far, the local insects and the small, lizard-like creatures that were everywhere, were uninterested in the squares he'd scratched out, and with some luck and a lot of work, he hoped he'd be able to supplement his diet. What food there'd been in the magical crates was nutritious, no doubt, but boring. Very boring. And the supplies were strictly substance free. No wine, no liquor, no cannabis…he eyed a few of the cactus-y looking plants speculatively. Outside of the perimeter of the space he considered his, grew a type of shrub that seemed to be covered with berries…berries could be fermented, right? Wasn't gin made from berries? Or something like that. Certainly when he was drinking it, it had never been important to know….
Lex shuddered. Well. He was sure he'd find some way to temper constant lucidity. He looked down at the sharp-edged trowel in his hand. Besides the obvious, of course.
~~oOo~~
It didn't take a genius to understand that being presented with the problem of survival was his jailors' way to head off thoughts of suicide. He was fine with it. It made the time pass and mostly kept his thoughts off himself—he refused to knuckle under to his isolation. He was beginning to think that the thing that screamed in the night had stepped up efforts to come after him. He must present a pretty problem to the screamer. He respected that--problem solving was something Lex understood. After all wasn't that what life was about?
Lex threw a rock across the river, watched it hit the water and sink with a satisfying splash. Wasn't that all that Clark had represented once? Just a pretty problem to solve, a problem that might intersect with questions he had about his own life. Why couldn't the man have seen that? That solving it had more to do with himself that with Clark? Well, he managed to do it without Clark's help. Of course.
Lex threw another rock, and imagined that the rocks in the river were people he knew. "Dad—if I could, I'd bring you back and kill you again," he muttered. "Clark, you self-righteous bag of wind…you look like an idiot in that costume. Uniform. Whatever. Two stones for you."
One after the other, he threw stones and hit his target time after time….
"Damn it!" Lex shouted. "Lex, you idiot!" Of course. Weapons.
He gathered rocks, and piled them at the hut entrance. Maybe he'd just see what it was that was coming after him.
Rocks, Lex? Really? Something with claws hard enough to scratch rock, and you arm yourself with--
"Shut up." It didn't matter. He felt a bit safer with his arsenal, and for the first time in quite a few days, lay down feeling a lot less tense…which only allowed his thoughts to travel where they hadn't in quite a while. He was hyper aware of his skin, the way sweat dried on it, every little itch, and faint sting of a myriad scratches, the sheet under his back, the slightly scratchy sleep pants pressing against his dick and he shifted on the narrow bed..."Oh fuck," he groaned, and pressed against it. It grew rapidly against the warmth and pressure of his palm. He pushed the pants down around his hips, and let his dick free. He licked up the center of his palm, and began jerking off, rough and fast, his eyes squeezed shut. Fast. Get it over with. He was hard, his hand was hot, and he wanted, wanted to come desperately, and it wasn't working. He imagined partner after partner--finally, just anyone who hadn't pissed him off. Tried to imagine some of the wilder things he'd done and…finally sighed, and gave up. Let his mind go where it wanted and there he was again, weak golden sunlight barely lighting the rough wood walls of the loft, just enough light to pick out Clark, back arched against the couch, mouth moving. Lex tilted his head and heard his name being panted softly, in time with the hand moving on Clark's dick. Lex was instantly so hard he gasped—his dick jerked and grew in his hand and he replayed the image of Clark calling out 'Lex', and coming all over himself until Lex came himself….
What a shame it hadn't happened like that. Lex grimaced and wiped his hand on the pants, and in moments, the last bit of tension slithered out of his muscles and he slid, boneless and relaxed, into a deep sleep.
~~oOo~~
Part three
tbc
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Kal/Lex
Rating: over all--R
Word Count: 1841
Spoilers: none
Summary: Lex Luthor destroyed one world and crippled another for the sake of humanity. Of course humanity was incapable of understanding the gift he'd given them. Now he was sentenced to pay the price, a lifetime on his very own planet, without the company of other human beings….
Notes/Warnings: language, tantrums, sexual situations …I don’t even have to warn you about M/M sex, right?
This is my failed Big Bang attempt. It's most definitely a WIP. I'm hoping to come up to a good finish--*koff*. I promise there will be an ending—even if they just get on a bus and go to the seashore….
Morning came, and he decided that the spot they dropped the boxes in was not the ideal place to make a camp—the spot above the small stream was flat, sheltered on one side by the rock spires, close to clean water…he walked around the area. It should do. He only needed to drag the crates from the landing to here. He narrowed his eyes at the rock strewn hill. Right. No problem….
He never imagined himself a beast of burden. There were some points in his life that he'd had to perform manual labor—Mother's ranch…the Kent farm…the island….he winced. Yes, the island. He doubted it would come to that…level of insanity. He was fairly certain his jailors wanted him to remain as sane as possible, or what would their punishment come to? But….
Work was good, he reminded himself, and dragged the crate over the sandy soil. A flattened crate performed duty as a sled, the apparently indestructible overalls a yoke of sorts. Unfortunately his body was nowhere near as indestructible as the overalls. By the end of the day, he had burns on his shoulders—on top of the burns, he had blisters on feet and arms and shoulders and he was nauseous from the never-ending, oppressive, heat.
"Really, this is ridiculous. This is torture, pure and simple—torture, you hear me? I know you're broadcasting this—this dog and pony show to the worlds." Lex flipped 'them' off, and staggered down to the river. He dropped his clothes on the bank, and fumbled his way over slick rocks until he was thigh deep in the water. He breathed out a great sigh of relief. This planet might not have been as dry as no doubt his captors had hoped for, but it was hot as hell, and the cool moving water was almost as good as a full body massage. He rinsed and rubbed grime off as well as he could, and then did the same to his clothes. He sighed again as he wrung out the bright green clothing and spread them on rocks to dry, muttered to himself, "Torture, pure and simple."
The morning sun rose over the hills and Lex marveled at how for a short while, the place was almost…pretty. Sunlight made minerals in the rocks dance with light, so that it looked like they were studded with diamonds, the colors in the sand—purple, red, bronze—glittered under the butter yellow sun. Slowly, the heat made its presence known, but for a bit, Lex sat peacefully and watched the world change.
By late afternoon, he'd found crates that contained a flexible shelter, one that inflated itself, for which he was extremely grateful. Once it was fully inflated, Lex hooked the separate sections together, and ended up with a three room shelter—one without a bath, the bastards. He found a foam that was supposed to be injected in the walls of the shelter, once injected, it expanded and hardened, making the shelter rigid. Now it was more like a hut, and less like a tent. He found also, that the foam could be sprayed on the walls and he had a window in which the foam stayed soft, and could be smoothed, shaped. Working slowly but surely, he ended up with a smooth walled, cool sort of…cave. He promptly dubbed it the Flintstone house. Or depending on his mood, the Flintstone house of pain.
Using a manual so generously provided, and the tools also, he spent a few lively days constructing an outhouse. It was while doing that, digging a deep hole in the ground, and planning for which way to go when digging the next, he realized that there would be a need for new holes. That he would never not need an outhouse, that his shiny tools and gadgets would eventually stop working…that maybe his supply drops would stop, that some day, he might be forgotten…that he was more than likely meant to die, alone, on this ball of roasting dust….
Lex crouched in the bottom of the hole he'd dug, rubbed blistered, bleeding hands over his face and swore he wouldn't cry, but his body won the victory over his will, and he sobbed, cried hard, loud, and long, all alone, at the bottom of the magnificent hole he'd dug. Down in the cool and quiet, he lamented, he mourned the loss of all he'd had. "Clark, what you did to me. Clark," he sobbed. "Did you know what they were going to do…I can't believe that." his head fell back against the wall of the hole. "I know you wouldn't throw me here, not after the Phantom Zone. Not after that. "
After a while he pulled himself together, and worked his way back up the ladder, back into his hut. He lay down in the bedroom, atop an undressed mattress and rubbed his raw, red eyes. He'd never sleep, not like this, not so full of sorrow….
A few hours later, Lex was startled out of a deep dreamless sleep by a heart-stopping scream. Something was clawing at the walls and doors of the hut, fighting to get in and Lex was certain it wasn't driven by curiosity, whatever it was. He rolled upright on the mattress, and wrapped arms around himself, scrabbled back on the mattress until he was flush against the wall. whatever was out there was dangerous—absolutely *not* an insectivorous aardvark. Thank goodness it couldn't claw through stone. The walls of the hut were just as stiff and unyielding as granite, and wrapping himself up in a blanket, he thanked his vacuous, under-informed, persecuting jailors for doing at least one thing right.
Morning found Lex examining the outside of his shelter. The walls might have been unyielding as rock, but still, it had gouged a few shallow scratches into the material, and the ground around it was scored with claw marks. Lex exhaled noisily.
"Well. No evening drinks on the veranda, certainly. My sincerest thanks to whoever came up with the surfacing for this little dump." He patted the white wall thankfully. "I think you saved my life, Flintstone house…but you're still ugly as sin."
Time passed and Lex amused himself playing Robinson Crusoe. He'd managed to create a garden with amendments he found in the crates to enrich the dusty soil, and planted the seed he'd found, all with the help of gardening manuals he'd also been so thoughtfully provided. So far, the local insects and the small, lizard-like creatures that were everywhere, were uninterested in the squares he'd scratched out, and with some luck and a lot of work, he hoped he'd be able to supplement his diet. What food there'd been in the magical crates was nutritious, no doubt, but boring. Very boring. And the supplies were strictly substance free. No wine, no liquor, no cannabis…he eyed a few of the cactus-y looking plants speculatively. Outside of the perimeter of the space he considered his, grew a type of shrub that seemed to be covered with berries…berries could be fermented, right? Wasn't gin made from berries? Or something like that. Certainly when he was drinking it, it had never been important to know….
Lex shuddered. Well. He was sure he'd find some way to temper constant lucidity. He looked down at the sharp-edged trowel in his hand. Besides the obvious, of course.
It didn't take a genius to understand that being presented with the problem of survival was his jailors' way to head off thoughts of suicide. He was fine with it. It made the time pass and mostly kept his thoughts off himself—he refused to knuckle under to his isolation. He was beginning to think that the thing that screamed in the night had stepped up efforts to come after him. He must present a pretty problem to the screamer. He respected that--problem solving was something Lex understood. After all wasn't that what life was about?
Lex threw a rock across the river, watched it hit the water and sink with a satisfying splash. Wasn't that all that Clark had represented once? Just a pretty problem to solve, a problem that might intersect with questions he had about his own life. Why couldn't the man have seen that? That solving it had more to do with himself that with Clark? Well, he managed to do it without Clark's help. Of course.
Lex threw another rock, and imagined that the rocks in the river were people he knew. "Dad—if I could, I'd bring you back and kill you again," he muttered. "Clark, you self-righteous bag of wind…you look like an idiot in that costume. Uniform. Whatever. Two stones for you."
One after the other, he threw stones and hit his target time after time….
"Damn it!" Lex shouted. "Lex, you idiot!" Of course. Weapons.
He gathered rocks, and piled them at the hut entrance. Maybe he'd just see what it was that was coming after him.
Rocks, Lex? Really? Something with claws hard enough to scratch rock, and you arm yourself with--
"Shut up." It didn't matter. He felt a bit safer with his arsenal, and for the first time in quite a few days, lay down feeling a lot less tense…which only allowed his thoughts to travel where they hadn't in quite a while. He was hyper aware of his skin, the way sweat dried on it, every little itch, and faint sting of a myriad scratches, the sheet under his back, the slightly scratchy sleep pants pressing against his dick and he shifted on the narrow bed..."Oh fuck," he groaned, and pressed against it. It grew rapidly against the warmth and pressure of his palm. He pushed the pants down around his hips, and let his dick free. He licked up the center of his palm, and began jerking off, rough and fast, his eyes squeezed shut. Fast. Get it over with. He was hard, his hand was hot, and he wanted, wanted to come desperately, and it wasn't working. He imagined partner after partner--finally, just anyone who hadn't pissed him off. Tried to imagine some of the wilder things he'd done and…finally sighed, and gave up. Let his mind go where it wanted and there he was again, weak golden sunlight barely lighting the rough wood walls of the loft, just enough light to pick out Clark, back arched against the couch, mouth moving. Lex tilted his head and heard his name being panted softly, in time with the hand moving on Clark's dick. Lex was instantly so hard he gasped—his dick jerked and grew in his hand and he replayed the image of Clark calling out 'Lex', and coming all over himself until Lex came himself….
What a shame it hadn't happened like that. Lex grimaced and wiped his hand on the pants, and in moments, the last bit of tension slithered out of his muscles and he slid, boneless and relaxed, into a deep sleep.
Part three
tbc
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