Title: What's Yours Is Mine
Pairing: Clark/Lex, Bruce/Clark
Rating: Adultish, R
Length: 754 words
Spoilers: future fic, no particular spoilers
Warnings: slash, obsession
Disclaimer: Not mine, seriously. All belongs to Al & Miles, CW/WB and DC Comics.
A/N: Written for Porn Battle V, Prompt - [fandom] Smallville, [pairing] Lex/Clark, [prompt word] mine
Summary: Sometimes escape means only return - and revenge.
Instead of relaxing neck deep in his penthouse jacuzzi, Lex barrels down unlit country backroads that he can't bring himself to admit are too familiar. Roads that he's negotiated too many times, to no purpose, and too long ago.
He has less purpose now, or rather a different one. Once, he chased the elusive mystery known as Clark Kent down these same roads. Now he's merely escaping him. For he's everywhere, either in ill-fitting suit or too fitting costume.
Lex has no destination save not driving by a certain yellow farmhouse or dust-ridden castle. He contents himself with mile markers, nameless fields.
But as he turns a curve, his headlights land on the back of a plaid shirt, the man within it walking along the shoulder. He slows down to make sure he's not hallucinating, conjuring up the past. He stops.
"Need a ride?"
Ridiculous. A 28-year old Clark Kent merely nods and opens the passenger door.
Lex drives. They don't speak.
Two miles later, he pulls off to the side, hands shaking on the wheel. He can't do this, pretend any longer. Clark looks out the window, sighs.
Jesus, he's still too fucking beautiful. And if this is merely infatuation grown into hatred, obsession, then it's for life. Clark should recognize commitment when he has it.
If Lex doesn't break the silence right now, move this forward, he'll have to reach down to the gun with the kryptonite bullets and shoot the bastard on the spot. Three bullets for Clark, one for himself. Domestic murder-suicide and they've never even touched, let alone cohabitated. The fact that they share one planet is enough.
"Is it Lois?" He must have finally confessed, and she pushed him away.
Clark shakes his head, still looking away.
Oh, so it's The Bastard. Lex should laugh, tell Clark that it serves him right for playing with billionaires that like to play dress-up and lurk in caves. The man's 35-years old and still lives in his parents' basement. Although it's a nice basement from what Lex's intelligence can gather, full of toys.
Lex doesn't laugh. Bruce Wayne is a dead man. No one is allowed to hurt Clark save himself.
World's Finest, his ass. But it isn't his ass, though it should have been. It's clearly Clark's. He had him, the son of bitch had him. And he let him go.
Lex grits his teeth, punches the dashboard several times in silence. He rests his head on the steering wheel.
"Don't hurt him," Clark whispers.
Fuck, have the lies come full-circle now that they finally rest on the truth? How can they understand each other like this?
And Lex is hard, so hard. Why hide it anymore?
Clark turns, smiles, a small sad one, not the glorious one. "It's okay, Lex."
He pushes Lex gently back, places a knowing hand right there. And he's dipping down, unzipping him, swallowing him down just like that.
"Clark, no, we...we should go somewhere." Not like this. Come home with me, Clark. Come home.
But Clark doesn't stop. He knows what he's doing. Fuck, right there, right there. And Lex is in danger of shooting off like a teenager. He splays one hand on the roof, one in Clark's hair, and he gasps. Too long and too soon. Clark swallows and rises, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
And Lex is on him, kissing that mouth, saying "Clark" over and over again. It's the only word that matters. "I'll take care of you," he says, his own hand unzipping, mouth lowering. I'll always take care of you. It should have been me, only me. He moves until his mouth is full, frenzied. Too long and too soon. Clark shudders, rewards him with a whisper.
Lex doesn't want to pull back, but it's over. He puts the car back into gear, turns it around.
"I'm taking you home."
"It's not that simple, Lex."
No, it should have been this simple in the first place. "Regardless, I am."
And the man that can move mountains, shoot lasers from his eyes, merely says, "Okay. Just for tonight."
Lex smiles. "It's not that simple, Clark."
It isn't. Strategic relocation. Lex understands obsession. It's the only point of sympathy that he has with Bruce. So when Bruce realizes that he hasn't had enough - tomorrow, next week, next month - Lex will be there to stop him.
What's mine is mine, Bruce. And now, what's yours is mine too.