Two lines given:
“if you're short on bus fare i will drive
if you need a warmer coat here take mine”November 2003
The phrase “Let’s blow this joint” would never have any dirtier connotations than when it came out of Welling’s mouth. And Michael was one who’d know, even if he was, like, totally biased. Also, completely lacking any semblance of willpower, because, Tom. Smiling. At him.
So he’d made some equally cheesy come-back to Tom’s line, but followed him outside anyway, and they had walked away for a block before Michael realized that he was, you know. Not at the party any more. Or even in a remotely well-lit area, seeing as how Welling had them walking down some dark alley towards God-knew-what. He wondered if he should point this out--sometimes Welling’s “Clark-like” behavior was convincing enough to make anyone, even Michael, think that he really was that slow.He started to bring his hand up, and grab Tom’s shoulder, but lost the legitimate excuse to do so when they emerged into another street, with enough lights to see that the shops were closed, but not much else. Look clingy, or admit to having been scared of a dark alley? Look clingy, definitely. His hand settled on Tom’s elbow instead, and Tom turned to grin at him. Like a quick, bright, and blinding little camera flash and Michael was still smiling back, helplessly when they walked past a shop that wasn’t quite closed yet. Silhouette against the window of someone dancing inside, and lip-synching into a broom what Michael knew was a song that they’d probably never admit to having listened to in the light of day.
“And I would like
for you
to pull me
under…”He looked down quickly, hiding a smile he wasn’t sure Tom would see, because Tom wasn’t looking at him, but he could be.
They passed another block in silence, a few minutes after Michael’s smile had faded and turned a wistful little quirk in his mouth as he tried to keep his mind off of anything that involved Tom and warmth. Because, the numbness in his ears and nose, and ech, his shaved scalp. But he was still following. Such a push-over.
A hard gust of wind hit them as they turned the corner and Michael shivered, moving a little closer into Tom’s warmth. Tom was looking at him, concerned, so he tried to explain through the numbness around his mouth.“It’s a little cold.”
“Yeah, I didn’t expect it to be this bad.” Tom nodded, and stopped their movement.
He was very, very aware of his hand in the crook of Tom’s elbow, and how it changed angle when Tom turned to face him.“Here, let me warm you up.” The last word was murmured over Michael’s head, as Tom’s gloved hands came up to cover his freezing scalp, the soft whisper of warm breath washing over sensitive skin made Michael shiver again. This time, he managed to burrow into Tom’s arms.
They stood like that, although the seemingly limitless heat-source that was Tom had warmed him up about ten minutes ago. Or more. He wasn't going to complain. Or anything, really, as long as he got to stand wrapped in Tom. All warm and wholesome and Clark-like. God he was a pervert.It wasn't his fault that Tom managed to look sixteen at age twenty-six.
He’s standing there with Mike in his arms, cupping the bald head and fighting an urge to bend down and kiss it. But his mouth is descending of its own accord, brushing warm lips over cold, slightly rough, stubbled scalp. He can feel that Mike wants to ask--so he turns his head, and rubs his cheek over where his lips had been.
“Just warming you up,” he murmurs into Mike's ear, not quite nuzzling the side of his head, and Tom doesn’t really know what he’s doing. What’s allowed…they’re friends, right? He’s never done this to a friend who isn’t a girl before, but Mike is special. He must understand. Or at least, he isn’t complaining.
“Tom,” the soft, low voice from the vicinity of his shoulder blade startles a reaction out of his sensitized body, and he fights the urge to back away quickly, give Mike some space. “We should…get going. Have to get up at a decent time tomorrow.”
He can feel the slight smirk-turned-smile on Mike, the ‘Lex-ness’ of it. Only not, because this ‘Lex’ looks kind of vulnerable--is standing in Tom's arms, for chrissakes--and Mike doesn’t really mean to be suggestive when he isn’t joking. Just tiredness and alcohol. Right.
“Yeah, we should.” He notices that the nearest light source is coming from a subway entrance about the same time Mike turns around against him, facing the sign.
“Wanna just take the subway back and get the cars later?” Mike's suggestion catches him unaware, because he’d rather walk.
He says so.
“I’m too tired to come with you.” Mike blinks up at him, and he tells himself that the slight thrust of Mike’s lower lip is not a pout. Damn tempting though. “But I’ll walk if you will. Then you’ll just have to carry me if I collapse or something.” The last is said in a plaintive voice that makes Tom want to do something. Anything. From shoving Mike against the wall right then and there, to hugging him tight and never letting go.
“I can do that.” He tells Mike. “Being super is good for something.”
Mike attempts to roll his eyes at Tom but only manages to sway unsteadily on his feet in the process. Tom decides that the subway is a better idea after all.
Being carried to bed by Tom, romantic as that sounded, was still undignified, Michael told himself. And so, he was going to stumble his own way to bed, virtuously alone, and um, sleep. Yeah. Tom had walked him to the door though. And he told himself it was stupid to want anything more but he’d never been the brightest crayon in the box. The sharpest tool in the shed. The… Okay, so he was still drunk. Not a lot, but yeah.
He stripped his clothes on his way under the covers--wasn’t it funny how his skin actually felt the cold now that there was no Tom-acting-as-walking-furnace for him to lean against? He pulled the covers tighter around himself. They failed to be anything similar to Tom’s arms and he wondered if he had been drunk enough to have kissed Tom and gotten away with it. His skin felt warm and glow-y everywhere they’d touched, especially the top of his head where he could’ve sworn Tom had kissed him. Or brushed his lips on it accidentally. Or something. The shaved area was a bit more sensitive than most other places. God, he was such a girl.He drifted off to sleep trying to pretend the warm body was still against him, cuddling his pillows in an attempt to reciprocate, and wholly ignored the need to slide a hand into his boxers.
He wakes up trying to cuddle closer to sun-warmed pillows and blankets that fail to be enough like Mike in his dreams and realizes that the bright annoying light in his eyes is the sun glinting off his wedding ring.
The aggressive imprint of the golden ring blazing in sunlight is still behind his eyelids later when Allison is waving a hand in his face.
“Tom, hey To-om.” Giving him a puzzled look, accompanied with patented Chloe snerk. “Our superboy get laid last night? Not enough sleep?”
He doesn’t blush because it isn’t true, of course. That is, until Mike walks in.
“No, he was up all night thinking about me. Right, Clark?” Looks like it’s Lex at the moment, not Mike. Tom rolls his eyes, and though he might be turning an interesting shade of pink--maybe even red, at the fact that what Mike just said is actually true--he manages to make it part of the shy-Clark act.
“Actually I slept very well last night,” turning to Allison, he enunciates, “Alone.”
Mike’s reaction makes Tom nervous though.
A vague mixture of disappointment and predatory hunger in the older man's gaze besides the obvious amusement as he sidles up to Tom and says, “You know we can always change that, Clark.” Like he'd be willing to help with that, personally. Standing too close and straightening the nonexistent lapel of Tom's stage-flannel.Allison, snickering, has left the room. Closing the door behind her with an “I’ll give you two some privacy, then,” over her shoulder. Loud laughter fades with her into the hall and Tom rolls his eyes again, exchanging a semi-amused glance with Mike.
“You have me alone now,” he informs Mike, then adds in a low tone that sounds husky and suggestive even to himself, “Lex.” God, what the hell is he doing?
Mike is raising an eyebrow at him, “Kinky, aren’t you?”
But he steps closer, until his lips are skidding dangerously on the air over Tom’s jaw line.
“Clark.” the name is uttered with a definitive pleasure that Lex isn’t supposed to show in his best friend. Not with that kind of hunger behind it.The warmth of those lips are so close so close and Tom can feel it, almost, touching… He closes his eyes reflexively, dragging in a long shaky breath that involves swallowing and immediately wishing he hadn't. It isn’t fair.
“What’s not?” Mike’s mouth ghosts over his ear and he realizes he must’ve said it out loud. His eyes snap open, meeting intense blue before flickering down.
“You. I married her before I met you.”