Furious Angels
            by Nymph Du Pave
 

            CHAPTER TWENTY:  You've Got to be Kidding Me

            At the same time that Shawn ducked to avoid metal in his face, Lex's weak leg gave out on him.

            "Shit," he yelled, feeling a pop in his knee and flames in his upper hip.

            Okay. Now that fucking hurts.

            The ragged edge of the pipe, still gripped tightly in Lex's hand, sliced into the middle of Shawn's cheek and the boy shouted.  “FUCK!”  Shawn's hands shot up to onto his face and he stumbled back and to the side, an incredulous look plaster on his blackened face.

            Clark, released, fell forward, choking, just as Lex’s back hit the ground with another pop, this one loud.  The pipe flew to the right and his eyes rolled back into his head in pain and he howled.  Mere seconds later he felt cold hands on him.  Instinct kicking in, he began lashing out with his good leg and both arms, wincing as no doubt broken fingers met hard body.

            “Lex,” came a sadly strained and squeaky but very familiar voice.  “It’s me.”

            He felt the hands half picking him up and dragging him several feet away, most likely in the opposite direction of the football player.  Opening his eyes to meet Clark’s, he gasped seeing their red and puffy state.  The boy's face was no better off, pale and stiff looking.  Shawn had taken the natural glow out of Clark’s cheeks, had taken the tan and made the soft skin look as cold and sterile as Lex's own.  Lifeless.  Dead.  No heart, no blood, no soul.  That was how Lex looked everyday and how Clark looked now.  Like a vampire.

            Son of a bitch.

            Lex took one more look at his lover, this time at the more physical impairments: the tension, the chill and the inability to breathe with ease.  He shrugged off Clark’s hands and picked up the pipe from the ground.  He looked up at the farmboy.  “He’s gonna p-“

            Clark’s disgusted and horrified expression caught Lex off guard.  The boy was looking at Shawn, so Lex followed suit.

            Jesus.

            He almost gagged.  Where he had cut Shawn with the sharp end of the pipe there was no blood.  There was, actually, so scar.

            There was just no face.

            The boy was missing his cheek, part of his mouth and even his ear lobe.  Lex could see inside the bones and even the frozen, vile-looking tongue from where Shawn was missing teeth and part of his jaw.

            Clark looked down at the ground and, once again, Lex followed his gaze.  Pieces of frozen Shawn littered a small patch of Luthor manor’s pricey grass, right near their feet.  That was the pieces the kid wasn't holding in his hand, staring unblinking and glassy-eyed.

            Time to dig this area up and replace it with a bunch of azalea bushes.  A fucking LOT of them.  Or maybe a blacktop.  Clark was talking about wanting to play basketball on an outdoor court with me.  Or there’s always tennis.  He wanted to learn-

            “Lex.”  He felt a cold hand on his bare shoulder, knew it was Clark’s from the tender touch and realized his left hand was on his knee steadying himself.  He was using the pipe as a cane and gagging.

            That’s a weakness, Luthor.

            He breathed in deeply, swallowed the bile and stood up.  It was a little too quickly for his hip and knee, causing him to sway.  Luckily, Clark was there to catch him.

            “Look what you did,” Shawn whined.  “You fucking ruined my face."

            "Can say that again," muttered Clark, running his hand up and down Lex's bare back.  It was a gesture absent of all thought, the boy was merely going on habit of need, and yet he was completely careful when moving over Lex's wounds.

            "I can’t fix this,” Shawn continued to lament.  "I mean this is part of my face.  I can't glue my face back on."

            "Try staples," Lex offered, glaring.

            Shawn dropped the part of himself he was holding as if just realizing what it was.  "Staples are metal.  That's no good."

            He's hysterical.

            The football player looked up.  “You ruined my fucking face, Luthor.”

            Lex pushed away from Clark, standing on his own two feet with no assistance and looked to Shawn.  He was suddenly hardened inside and heated with rage.  “You almost killed my best friend,” he hissed.  “And you’re pissed that I chipped that ugly fucking mug of yours?”

            Clark moved beside him, hand on his arm.  When their gazes met, Clark's was questioning.

            Lex looked at him, trying to push all of the meaning into the green eyes opposite him.  Please see that I’m asking you to trust me.

            Clark stepped back.

            Shawn appeared not to have even heard Lex.  “You broke me.  My face is-”

            “Yeah,” Lex interrupted.  “It’s on the ground in pieces.  Where the rest of you is going to be in a minute, Arctic-boy.”

            Shawn looked up at him, fury and frenzy in those crimson orbs and he charged.

            Lex was waiting until Shawn was closer.  He felt hands on his waist and breathed a sigh of relief that Clark was there to save him if something went wrong.

            He braced himself as Shawn came within five feet of them and quickly brought up the two foot pipe.

            The impact drove the pipe into Shawn’s stomach.

            It also propelled it back towards Lex’s.

            He felt cold, hard, cloth covered pressure on his bare flesh and flinched.

            He shut his eyes hoping that the shirts he wrapped around the base would stop the ragged, sharp edges of the angry metal pipe from piercing his skin.

            The sound of Shawn’s deep, desperate, sobbing gasp filled his ears at the same time the cut on his stomach ripped open more.  He felt something warm begin to trail down his stomach.

            That’s an awful lot of blood.

            “Lex?” Clark’s voice rang out, trembling in worry.

            Oh, fuck me.
 
 
 
 
 
 

            TBC Tomorrow...