Chapter 8: This Kiss

///clark///

Lex Luther stirred a little, cozy if a bit warm under the comforters of his bed. He found it odd that he felt sunshine on his face; he hadn't waken up to the sun in ages, usually preferring to be up and busy at work, not even noticing as the scorching inamorata of the galaxy stirred herself into daily animation.

It was a chore to open his slumber-heavy eyes, but one he eventually accomplished, finally glancing out his bedroom wall-of-glass. For once he had slept in-

…shit, that's not good…

-late enough to wake up to the taintless mid-morning outside: cerulean sky with no hint of it's usual blemishes, their white and fluffy bodies almost always concealing portions of the elegant dance floor of the heavens; lush green trees, branches swaying lightly in the breeze; cobalt water shimmering like reflected metal in a hot day's sun. The gardens below- of which, at his angle, he was unfortunately blind to- would no doubt be just as picturesque, with hundreds of colors blending and yet maintaining their perfectly balanced individual beauty.

He closed his eyes again. He was tired, ridiculously so, and he played with the idea of staying in bed, slipping back into the void of nothing. It was Sunday, damn it, and he was tired.

…forget the luther code of conduct…

He was going to go back to sleep.  Feeling like an accomplished child who had just convinced a parent he was sick and in need of a one-day sabbatical from school, he adjusted his head- barely even detecting the stiffness and the low, penetrating throb that had settled within the muscles- and realized that the comforters were tucked around him. They were supposed to be in his closet this time of year and he didn't remember fetching them; he did, however, remember being cold.

Lex frowned briefly but let the expression dissipate from his face as he started to fall back into the abyss, sleep slipping its tendrils of black dust loosely around his consciousness.

…I was freezi-…

///clark///

His eyes shot open.

…clark?…

The trance-inducing tendrils retracted instantaneously, leaving him much aware, but very confused. With the image and that word, that name, he had been roused from sleep and thrown harshly into the land of the vigilant.  But why?

---arms holding me tightly---

"Oh-"

---hands caressing---

"-no."

---lips against mine---

The memory of last night was abrupt, thrown straight into his cache of recollections as if it weren't truly his own memory, but something shocking viewed accidentally from a TV screen. Of course, never did a television presentation flood him with emotions confessing aloud to his every movement, his every sensation, causing the rhythm and tempo of the dance in his reminiscence to suddenly come alive within his sensorial anamnesis. The steps of the tango that he had most recently learned- and the most potent to his mind and body- were comfort and the sweet ability to just let go.

…there was beauty in release…

Clark had taught him that lesson with just a simple and strong, available shoulder to cry on, proving that he was someone to count on. Then he had revealed an entirely different side of himself.

…the kiss…

So trusting in the young Luther was he, that Clark hadn't even thought twice about that particular disclosure, that attestation to what he wanted. Lex wasn't used to that kind of trust.

…was it a- a dream?…

Lex licked his lips tentatively, remembering how relentless the farmboy's kiss had been, how much surprising passion flowed between the two as they had tried desperately to find something that could bring them closer and ease the suffering. As he trailed around the lines of his mouth, he found the taste still lingering sweetly, currently gracing his now hallowed tongue.

…I can still taste him; there's no way that this was a dream…

So was it real? If it wasn't a dream, if Clark had actually kissed him-

…no, I started it; it was me who kissed him…

Could he have really instigated a kiss, and not just any kiss but one with Clark? Yeah, sure, he'd been thinking a lot about him lately, but-

…the dream; the dream in the field…

Clark had been there, oh god, had he been there. He had stood with Lex when no one else could have, he had offered his hand when no one else would have. He had saved Lex and no matter what he said-

…he was wrong, I'm not the strong one, he's the strong one…

-he was the reason that Lex had not fallen into the numbness, into 'what could have been'. Into what would have brought Lex to a fateful end, his father's end, the only Luther end that had ever existed.

Until now.

…calm down, it was just a dream, it doesn't necessarily mean anything…

He breathed in deeply, the inhalation belying his thoughts, and felt a pain between his shoulder blades and ribs. The memory of his strenuous "exercise" the night before, followed presently behind the pain, as if it hadn't wanted to be late.

…late for a very important date…

He smirked to himself at the absurdity of the mind. He'd always hated that damned rabbit.

…clark; me there; but what was I doing in the field? why was I so lost, so-…

"Helpless," he whispered, thinking of the lack of feeling, the lack of real choice he would have been resorted to had it not been for Clark's presence.

///fallen to his knees, forehead on a casket, tears falling in rivulets, falling to the cold marble floor and wasted there, the chilled, inanimate ground unfeeling to his devastation///

"Mom," he said out loud, the image before his eyes gone, the lids now closing in regret. He could have gone forever and a day without remembering that little portion of his nightmare.

…no, just a dream…

What a dream it had been.  So real, so cold, so... Freeing.

…a dream where I found the one person who could save me, who could just love me for me; but what kind of love?…

---passionate kiss; he's pulling me so hard to him, so hard, and it's not hard enough, I want to be closer, just want to be closer---

He flushed at the memory that had invaded his thoughts, flushed at his body's reactions to it, every limb going white hot, a sinfully pleasurable sensation.

…good god; that's never happened before…

---blue eyes looking so deep and pained, but needy too; could he need me?---

…how can a dream be so real?…

The memories of his mother and Clark in the field. Those were obviously dreams. But Clark in his bedroom? Looking like a guardian angel under the starlight? Holding him close, tight, relishing in him, kissing him.  He'd never had the luxury of being kissed like that; it left Lex feeling like he must return the passion but being too tired...

That couldn't have been a dream.

Last night Clark displayed the kind of soulful attraction that now had Lex deeply confused. Just before, within his dreams, it had come upon him that he could find love within the boy, something that could save him from his own personal condemnation, someone that could force him to live and love. But his actions last night... They were confounding him. Had his dream shown him the way to that kind of love? A "lover" instead of a "loved one"?

Suddenly his dream, and his own actions whenever he was accompanied by Clark, took on more depth, wider proportions, and less confusing undertones. Whenever around Kent, he was always singularly focused: Clark was his fun, the climax of his day, his one true and honest friend- that wanted nothing but true and honest friendship in return. Clark was the point, the aim, Lex's object of significance when the two were together, and he'd never tried to examine these thoughts. He had just accepted them as the ordinance of their friendship.

But last night... In and out of the dream, he had been held so wonderfully close, needing physical comfort and contact more than anything else at the moment and actually- finally, after waiting fourteen years- receiving it. And this time, it was from the right person.

Then, when his eyes had dried and when his sobs had calmed, Clark had been so tender, so caring, wiping away his pain, allowing Lex to keep the contact that kept him serene. Lex had wanted nothing but to thank him, nothing but to stay there until Clark had taken away all of the pain, the confusion, the loss that he had hidden so deep for so long. And he knew that Clark could. It was just within his powers, within his aura.

Lex had felt the tenderness shift to something else... Something intensely understanding and profound; something that, when Lex pulled back to meet his eyes, the contact made Clark transfer his gaze elsewhere, watching what he did instead of looking at Lex. He had deliberately grazed Lex's face with his fingertip, sorrow all too painfully obvious riding shotgun along side the sympathy, but there had been something else exposed on that guilelessly expressive face. There had been need. And lust.

He had desired to see it, see if it would dissolve when Clark was looking at him. So he had whispered the boy's name, more manifest emotions pouring out of that single syllable than he had freed in years, but it wasn't time to care. It never would be because it had been Clark to whom those emotions had been obvious.

Clark had looked up and, if anything, the truth was glaringly visible like a neon sign in the night, or the impossibility of light shining amidst a black hole. In those blue eyes, pulled straight from his dream, nothing was hidden; it was still his color, still the same place, offering security, his own little sanctuary. But now the emotions there were stronger, and the newest- desire- was the most palpable.

---He wants me. I'm so confused, but I need love, I need something comforting right now and he wants me, I see it in his eyes. No one has ever looked at me like that. Ever. I need him, I need him so much right now. What if I just- what if I just kiss him?---

He had used Clark. Or, at least, he had inadvertently tried to use Clark. After just that one kiss, however, just that simple caress of lips, things became so much more distinct, more apparent. Instantly, he knew: this was the reason he thought about Clark all the time, the reason that images of him popped up in his head non-stop at rambling luncheons and drab board meetings. He was attracted to Clark Kent.

And the feeling was mutual.

…more than mutual…

He sighed, remembering his next attempt at a kiss, this time trying to get Clark to respond. At first he just wanted to know if Clark wanted this too, like his eyes said they did, like Lex's body and mind found that he did. The heat in his stomach had grown into a raging bonfire, driving him a little nuts, and he grabbed the boy's jacket, pressing himself up against Clark's chest, feeling Clark's heart pounding hard-

…so hard…

-against the inside of his chest. Lex could feel his own speed up, but was fascinated, fixed on Clark's.

---I need to feel him, need to taste him. Oh, what am I doing?---

He hadn't meant to go so far, had only meant to see what Clark wanted, but he felt that heartbeat, that furious heartbeat, and his own had desperately wanted to catch up, had needed to match the pace. He had wanted to taste Clark... so he did. He had run his tongue over Clark's bottom lip without even thinking about it, without trying to decipher anything first.

---"Lex."
My stomach tightens and I shiver at his now very deep voice saying my name. There is such strained passion in it, such pure and raw emotion. No one has been willing to share everything with me, no one has ever been willing to give to me what they are, but he does it in a single word. My name. He does it with my name.---

He had run his tongue over both of Clark's lips the second time, longing for the consequence that Clark's admonition begged him to heed, and he wasn't disappointed. Clark had yanked him closer and had taken over completely, kissing him and kissing him seemingly with no end, and he cried out into that mouth, cried out in wonder and indulged delight; but then Clark was-

---no---

-pulling away and-

---I don't want him to stop---

-Lex had brought him back, pleading with a willing Kent to continue, but then he stopped having something to say first.

---I have to tell him about the dream. I have to tell him what he means to me---

And Lex had. He had- clearly and concisely, he thought- clarified his sentiments and the situation, elucidated just what Clark was to him. The last thing he remembered after that was kissing Clark. He was kissing Clark, on the lips, the face, the neck, then he was waking up to the sun shining and a temporary memory loss, not to mention the new feelings stirring in his gut: a little bit of anxiety, a hot tension, and cool relief, though what for he wasn't certain.

More sharp and repetitive than all of the aforementioned was the impatience; he couldn't wait to see Clark again, couldn't wait to sort things out, to calm it down and to go from there.

He smiled at his reasoning.  He couldn't wait for them to take their time.

…if that even makes sense…

Lex had started something with Clark that had yet to be made official but would never be rescinded.  It was close and arranged for the perfect heist.  Him and Clark. It could be perfect, and he intended to savor every moment of whatever his friend was willing to concede. He could not, would not, hold out on anything when it came to Clark, he swore this to himself. From what he had seen and felt the other night, he figured that would be a sacred decree.
 
 
 
 
 

To be continued...