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burntcopperThe bunnies attacked.
Title : Like This (1/1)
Author : Gunbunny
E-Mail : kabukivice@beeb.net
Rating : Depressingly suitable for kiddywinks.
Summary : Um. Clark and Lex. And zombie hands.
Disclaimer : Tell DC and Warner I'm unemployed.
Feedback : I accept burnt offerings and alcohol.
Dedication : Laura Jacquez for the zombie hand of Rob Lowe. Charley and Megs for beta.
Archive : http://kabukivice.com/underskin , anywhere else feel free.
Trust. Lex hears a lot about that : in terms of relationships, businesses, politics – which is just a far more ‘me! Look at me!’ version of the former two items – and he’s never sure about where he stands on the issue. Same with secrets, another of the big words bandied around when it comes to such issues. Except he’s lived a life where secrets were part of the game, the keeping and gaining of them. He understands them, in his non-monochrome world.
He understands that the currency of secrets and trust can tear things apart, or bind them closer together. The human race seems to exist on them; it’s an interesting take on motivation, at any rate.
Lex’s hand shifts, coming into contact with hair. Clark, who’s sitting between his legs, watching the goings-on at the park they’re taking a break in, cranes his head backwards and blinks at him. “Anything interesting you wanted to say, Lex?”
“No. It was the zombie hand of Rob Lowe.”
“One day I’m going to find out where you come up with these things. Lex, he’s not dead. The zombie hand of James Dean, I could understand –“
“It’d be mangled from the car wreck. Not to mention a little too decomposed for my liking.”
“…” Clark drops his head back down. “So the zombie hand of Rob Lowe is better. Okay, I can see that.”
“Not to mention infinitely more arousing.”
Clark growls, the growl containing a definite exasperated note. “Lex. Have you thought of marketing some of your more depraved fantasies off to the highly specialised end of the porn market?”
“Who says I haven’t? And that wasn’t one of my fantasies. My fantasies don’t tend to involve re-animated body parts.”
Clark gets up, brushing grass off himself. “I’m refusing to take part in this conversation any longer. The ice cream is calling. Chocolate?”
“If you insist.” Lex watches Clark walk off. Long legs and what's on top of them making a very pleasing picture.
Back onto the secrets issue. The amount of secrets surrounding the two of them would split another relationship. He's seen it happen. But for two people who depend on keeping those secrets for a small measure of sanity and privacy, it works. He remembers the way Clark used to lie so badly. He's better at it now. Lex stopped pushing for those secrets when he realised they weren't something Clark would let go of easily. The way the pushing just strengthened the guilt. Clark still hasn't told him those, at least not verbally. After a while they didn't need to be said. You tend to pick up on the fact that the person that's closest to you never suffers from contusions, or papercuts. The way he always says 'ow' a beat too late, or sometimes forgets to. Speed, strength, the vision, and the flight were just add-ons. Little extras.
Not really as important in the long run as what Clark tastes like, or the way he sprawls on the sofa after a hard day fighting with Lois. Lois is one of those people who don't understand that secrets are necessary, and that trust isn't. Chloe eventually came to understand the importance of them, even if she is rather disturbingly like her cousin in many ways. At least she adapted before she went to Gotham.
Gotham exists on the fine balance of secrets not being revealed and trust never brought into the arena, much more so than Metropolis. Bruce could probably provide him with several choice words on this little mini-essay he's got ticking over in his head. Gotham with its shadows and masks and madmen. He'll take Clark's ridiculous get-up over the madmen and palpable fear of Gotham any day.
What was it Clark said? Oh, yes. "Lex, the point of the costume is that they're *not* going to be staring at my face. Anywhere but."
"And because there's no mask, there's no secret identity. Interesting twist." So no-one looks beyond a pair of glasses because they don't think to, and Smallville probably chalks it up to the eccentricity of another meteor mutant if they see his face in the papers or on tv. Not that Superman's face is seen that much in the media. Often it's a little blurred. At least this one isn't off on another killing spree.
Clark comes back with the ice-cream. "Don't tell me, you're planning another buy-out of some poor unsuspecting company."
Lex smiles, takes the cone with the chocolate ice-cream. "How could you think that, Clark?"
"You're grinning. That means thinking. Thinking is always dangerous when it comes to you."
"It's a talent." Clark settles back between his legs and turns his attention to his ice-cream. After a while Lex's fingers come down to stroke his hair again, but this time there's no mention of zombie hands. Of actors or otherwise.
END
Title : Like This (1/1)
Author : Gunbunny
E-Mail : kabukivice@beeb.net
Rating : Depressingly suitable for kiddywinks.
Summary : Um. Clark and Lex. And zombie hands.
Disclaimer : Tell DC and Warner I'm unemployed.
Feedback : I accept burnt offerings and alcohol.
Dedication : Laura Jacquez for the zombie hand of Rob Lowe. Charley and Megs for beta.
Archive : http://kabukivice.com/underskin , anywhere else feel free.
Trust. Lex hears a lot about that : in terms of relationships, businesses, politics – which is just a far more ‘me! Look at me!’ version of the former two items – and he’s never sure about where he stands on the issue. Same with secrets, another of the big words bandied around when it comes to such issues. Except he’s lived a life where secrets were part of the game, the keeping and gaining of them. He understands them, in his non-monochrome world.
He understands that the currency of secrets and trust can tear things apart, or bind them closer together. The human race seems to exist on them; it’s an interesting take on motivation, at any rate.
Lex’s hand shifts, coming into contact with hair. Clark, who’s sitting between his legs, watching the goings-on at the park they’re taking a break in, cranes his head backwards and blinks at him. “Anything interesting you wanted to say, Lex?”
“No. It was the zombie hand of Rob Lowe.”
“One day I’m going to find out where you come up with these things. Lex, he’s not dead. The zombie hand of James Dean, I could understand –“
“It’d be mangled from the car wreck. Not to mention a little too decomposed for my liking.”
“…” Clark drops his head back down. “So the zombie hand of Rob Lowe is better. Okay, I can see that.”
“Not to mention infinitely more arousing.”
Clark growls, the growl containing a definite exasperated note. “Lex. Have you thought of marketing some of your more depraved fantasies off to the highly specialised end of the porn market?”
“Who says I haven’t? And that wasn’t one of my fantasies. My fantasies don’t tend to involve re-animated body parts.”
Clark gets up, brushing grass off himself. “I’m refusing to take part in this conversation any longer. The ice cream is calling. Chocolate?”
“If you insist.” Lex watches Clark walk off. Long legs and what's on top of them making a very pleasing picture.
Back onto the secrets issue. The amount of secrets surrounding the two of them would split another relationship. He's seen it happen. But for two people who depend on keeping those secrets for a small measure of sanity and privacy, it works. He remembers the way Clark used to lie so badly. He's better at it now. Lex stopped pushing for those secrets when he realised they weren't something Clark would let go of easily. The way the pushing just strengthened the guilt. Clark still hasn't told him those, at least not verbally. After a while they didn't need to be said. You tend to pick up on the fact that the person that's closest to you never suffers from contusions, or papercuts. The way he always says 'ow' a beat too late, or sometimes forgets to. Speed, strength, the vision, and the flight were just add-ons. Little extras.
Not really as important in the long run as what Clark tastes like, or the way he sprawls on the sofa after a hard day fighting with Lois. Lois is one of those people who don't understand that secrets are necessary, and that trust isn't. Chloe eventually came to understand the importance of them, even if she is rather disturbingly like her cousin in many ways. At least she adapted before she went to Gotham.
Gotham exists on the fine balance of secrets not being revealed and trust never brought into the arena, much more so than Metropolis. Bruce could probably provide him with several choice words on this little mini-essay he's got ticking over in his head. Gotham with its shadows and masks and madmen. He'll take Clark's ridiculous get-up over the madmen and palpable fear of Gotham any day.
What was it Clark said? Oh, yes. "Lex, the point of the costume is that they're *not* going to be staring at my face. Anywhere but."
"And because there's no mask, there's no secret identity. Interesting twist." So no-one looks beyond a pair of glasses because they don't think to, and Smallville probably chalks it up to the eccentricity of another meteor mutant if they see his face in the papers or on tv. Not that Superman's face is seen that much in the media. Often it's a little blurred. At least this one isn't off on another killing spree.
Clark comes back with the ice-cream. "Don't tell me, you're planning another buy-out of some poor unsuspecting company."
Lex smiles, takes the cone with the chocolate ice-cream. "How could you think that, Clark?"
"You're grinning. That means thinking. Thinking is always dangerous when it comes to you."
"It's a talent." Clark settles back between his legs and turns his attention to his ice-cream. After a while Lex's fingers come down to stroke his hair again, but this time there's no mention of zombie hands. Of actors or otherwise.
END
