Down Memory Lane

by a campbell 02/27/07

Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, NC-17

Spoilers for S6 and "Tresspass"

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Clark exited the barn feeling whipped. Maybe he was invulnerable physically, but he was finding, not for the first time, that his emotions were all too human.

Sure, losing Lana hurt. It hurt like hell, had for months, and he didn’t need Lex to twist the knife. Every time Clark thought he had mastered the pain, some new development would come slamming at him out of left field, and the wounds would reopen once again. Lex and Lana: dating. The pregnancy, then the engagement. How much worse could things get?

Still, he knew he’d been out of line last week—no matter how jealous he was about Lex and Lana, his behavior on the night of the party was inexcusable.

Sure, he was jealous. Sure, he and Lex hated each other now. They did nothing but trade insults whenever they met. Sure, they were using Lana like a bludgeon to beat each other over the head and about the heart. They’d become like two bratty kids playing tug of war with a well-worn rope on a deserted playground.

But he’d thought himself a better person than that, Red K or not. Wasn't he making any moral progress at all? At time, he sincerely doubted it.

And the way Lex spoke to him tonight: so cold, cynical, with a dour, impassive blankness in his grey eyes that Clark, even with all they’d been through, together and apart, had never seen before.

He’d vowed to distance himself emotionally even before the second meteor shower. To put the past behind him, never to let Lex hurt him again. Wrestled with guilt and the anguish that all too often expressed itself in hostility he couldn’t seem to control. He hadn’t been able to save Lex from Belle Reve. Lex had unavoidably learned his secret, and then forgotten all about it. And it had been such a relief to have him, finally, know. So blessed the hope of trust at last, so good not to have to pretend any more.

Hard, so hard, to forgive Lex for forgetting, and for all the pain his insatiable curiosity had caused. Impossible not to be angry with him for not being the man Clark knew he could be if only he’d try.

He was tired of making excuses for Lex to his friends and his family. He knew Lex wasn’t good for him. Being with Lex was too hard. He was weary of the prying--he knew Lex would never give it up, no matter what was promised, would keep getting closer to his secret until he finally discovered everything.

Tired of hoping he would change, because he never would. And afraid, too—because that long-ago warning, that everything Lex touched turned bad, was proving more true all the time.

He’d turned to Lana then. Lana, who was sweet, so sweet--uncomplicated, not like Lex. With her, he thought he could forget. Yearned to forget. But, in the end, it was a vain hope. If he let himself love her, she would die. He had to love her enough to let her go, just as he had Lex.

And Lex? Well, Lex just wanted everything he had. He knew that, now—Lex had said so, even before Zod invaded his body. Lex never cared for him. They’d never been real friends at all.

And yet, there was a time when he’d loved Lex, when thoughts of Lex would render him breathless in the middle of a school day, longing in the interminable afternoons, impatient and yearning during countless early evenings as he rushed through his chores so he could zip over to the mansion and into Lex’s arms. Lex was brilliant, and exciting, promising without words the lure of forbidden experiences--some of which he’d shared with Clark, while others remained forever hidden. Back then, he'd been confident that Lex was even more stuck on him than he was on Lex, which was saying a lot. So long ago, now, it seemed.

This evening, Lex had spoken to him as though he were the scum of the earth. Clark tried to block the memory of the hostile curl of Lex’s upper lip, the sneering way he spat out the words. But…the small, tight swallow when Lex handed him the invitation, how the years faded away as their hands met in the transfer and his own mind sped back to the two other weddings, Helen and Desiree, both accompanied by requests for him to stand as best man. The flashback to that fall afternoon outside the Beanery when Lex offered him the Radiohead tickets and issued the dare: that he had exactly thirty seconds to ask Lana Lang out.

...To see what you lost. Clark tried not to contrast the recollection of this evening’s harsh conversation with the memory of the way Lex used to look at him: cool, appreciative glances, up and down his body, as though he were peeling Clark’s clothes off and warming his body at the same time. Voice sleek and warm like candlelight and cocoa. The air used to kindle between them like tinder when they were anything less than fifty feet from each other, hum with the electricity of attraction. Now, only ashes remained.

They’d been nothing but hateful to each other for going on two years. He’d been the worst, he admitted that. He’d barged in over and over with accusations and not even a greeting, even beaten Lex, gone back to do it again and again, in Lex’s own house. Struck him so hard it was a wonder he hadn’t killed him.

Clarks cheeks burned with shame at the memory. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and drew a deep breath of the cold winter air as he stepped into the yard with a glance over toward the paddock.

His sneakered feet slowed to a stop.

The black Spyder was parked by the fence, dark against snow. The car that---he remembered the first time he and Lex had had sex in that car, on a Friday night back in sophomore year after Desiree's arrest. His heart twisted at the thought, and he swallowed, hard.

Like he could ever forget.

Lex was still here. Uncomfortable, Clark stood motionless, trained keen vision to pierce through the gloom. Lex, sitting still as a statue behind the wheel, pale profile staring off over the fields.

Clark gnawed his bottom lip. Well, this is awkward, he thought. Do I just walk on by? Two weeks ago, he would have done just that. Tonight, he hesitated.

He should. Heartless as he’d been himself, Lex had repaid him with interest for any pain Clark had caused him. He didn’t owe Lex anything, not any more.

Maybe not, but before he could process a motive, he was joggling the door handle with something like desperation. "Lex, open up! Lex!"

He bent to peer in the window. Lex cast him a tired glance, and maybe it was the desperation in Clark's gaze, or maybe just weary curiosity that made him punch at a button on the dash so Clark could yank the door open.

Clark couldn’t help but recall how Lex’s eyes used to kindle with warm interest when they lighted on him. Now, Lex just gazed at him with blank disdain. "Had a feeling you’d reconsider," he said blandly. "So much so that I revised my will this afternoon before heading over here. You just never know."

Countless times Clark had slid into this seat, to be met by Lex’s lidded glance and small, smug grin. Lex put so much into those smiles of his: welcome, amusement, desire. Promise of satisfaction later, when they were alone in the vast, draped mansion bedroom.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Lex," Clark snapped. He clambered in, slamming the door behind him.

Time was when Lex would have apologized for their latest disagreement, whether or not it was his fault, and shared some detailed story about some historical figure, or how this or that flaw in his character always led him to apply poor judgment, do questionable things. But now, Lex didn’t speak, just flashed him a look that clearly said: What the hell do you think you’re doing?

"Lex, that invitation. What’s the deal?"

"I explained back in the barn. And I know you were listening. Besides," Lex shrugged. "You came to the rehearsal dinner. Just common courtesy."

Clark took a deep breath and leveled his best stormy gaze. "Lex, you know you could have dropped the invitation in the mail. I want you to tell me why you really came over here tonight. Besides wanting to rub it in about Lana, I mean."

Lex drummed gloved fingers on the steering wheel in an aggravated tattoo. He thinned his lips. "To hurt you."

Clark tried, but failed to keep his voice steady. "Why?" His tone sounded remarkably more naked and vulnerable than he’d aimed for.

Lex used to cave whenever Clark let his eyes go large and dark. But this time, he wasn’t even watching.

"For all the times you hurt me."

Clark took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the vague pain around his heart. "I know I wasn’t always the best friend. But, Lex, you--"

Lex held up his hand. "Stop. Just stop, Clark. The time for discussion, and for your lectures about my unprincipled ways, is past. As you said to me at least two years ago: this friendship's over. And so is this conversation. It was over back in the barn." Lips set in a grim line, Lex reached for the ignition.

"Lex," Clark heard his own voice, soft and yearning. At one time Lex would have turned to him, gaze softening, and pulled him close for a deep, wet kiss. Now, he just gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"Get out," he spat.

It should have stung, but Clark, senses alight from memories and from the physical closeness, paid no attention to the command. Instead, he reached out and covered Lex’s gloved hand with his own. He could see Lex's whole body tense, and half-expected Lex to shake him off, but instead, he stayed still, looked down at their hands.

Clark sighed, and kneaded Lex’s hand a little, in moderate surprise that Lex was letting him do it. "How did we get to this point, anyway?"

"Remarkably easily, all in all." In spite of Lex’s clear desire to sound as dispassionate as he could manage, his voice broke before his mouth settled in a grim line. Clark could tell the physical contact was getting to him.

Clark exhaled. He knew he probably shouldn’t say it, but he did. "I have just one more question for you, Lex. Why would you want to hurt me if you don’t still care about me?"

He waited almost in fear for Lex’s answer.

Lex drew a long breath which slowly escaped in a sigh, and finally turned to look at him. "Because I used to love you."

Clark felt his own eyes grow round as he caught his breath. The sound of his own voice, thick with desire, startled him again. "Well, likewise."

A low groan slipped from his lips in something like desperate relief as Lex's mouth crushed into his. His groping hands reached up to cup Lex's face as he tongued Lex’s lips open, and then--sucking, greedy kisses, and they were all over each other, both of them gasping curses and profanities punctuated by gasps and moans.

Lex's slim fingers, scrabbling at his red jacket, the two of them tearing it off as a team, nearly ripping one of the sleeves. Clark swiped at a ribbon of saliva trailing down his chin to his neck as Lex, still swearing, fought with the silver belt buckle at his own waist and almost lost.

Heart pounding in his chest, Clark fumbled with the zipper of his jeans, working them open as he reached inside, then probed the flap of his boxers to pull out his hard, leaking cock. In a moment, cool, gloved fingers wrapped around his heated flesh. A sound--an embarrassing cross between a whine and a whimper--escaped his lips. He shifted in his seat, trying and failing to keep from thrusting into the snug grip as Lex’s body pressed closer to his.

His cock kept pulsing a wetness which had to be ruining Lex’s Italian leather gloves--not that he cared. He was angry, desperate, and, God, he hated Lex. Hated him for his brilliance, for his obsessions, for taking Lana--hated him because he still wanted him so much.

Lex was even closer, now, burying his face in the shoulder of Clark's t-shirt, nipping at the exposed skin of his neck. The sensation of Lex's hands running over his body, so lightly they tickled, was making him harder than ever.

Hated him—and how could it still be so good?

This odd voice he barely recognized was chanting breathlessly inside his head: Lex, I want you so much. I miss you. Lex's lips were back on his as his own arms wrapped around Lex’s slim, black-coated body

Touch me, Lex. It’s been so long since you did.

Through a haze of lust, he saw Lex push himself back and bend over him, bracing himself on both hands placed on the leather seat on each side of Clark's jean-clad thighs. Voice a low hiss close to Clark’s ear: "You still want it, Clark. Want me. You know you do."

And then, so softly than Clark almost thought he imagined rather than heard the words: "You can’t forget me any more than I can forget you."

Clark felt his lips curve into a smile of agreement in spite of the intensity of his arousal. Lex drew back and leaned down so Clark could feel warm breath on the wet head of his cock. His hips were rising from the seat, almost of their own accord, pushing his cock even closer to Lex's parted lips. He didn’t care if they were friends or enemies, not right now. He just had to have Lex suck him, one more time.

And Lex still remembered how he liked it: gentle licks and little pulls, slow at first, then gradually faster and harder, more intense. Clark pressed his lips together in a tight line and then let them fall open, his panting quickening with each stroke of Lex's agile tongue.

One trembling hand touched, then stroked Lex's bare scalp, which was glossed with a sheen of perspiration despite the cold outside. And when Lex's still-gloved fingers worked their way in to fondle his balls, that was it. Clark's climax began at the base of his spine, spread to his loins like a brushfire and then pulsed through his entire body in shock waves that seemed to go on forever, leaving him gasping and dazed, sated and crumpled in the passenger seat of Lex's second-favorite car.

As he came back to himself, he had a crazy urge to laugh. It was like they were both on crack. Both of them acting for a couple of years as though they hated each other, and then this happens. Clark was clueless as to quite how, or why. But it wouldn’t take much more to make him feel ridiculously--well, almost happy. Because everything wasn’t over between Lex and him. This proved it.

Didn’t it?

Lex, back in the driver’s seat, was buttoning the collar of his black shirt, glancing down in distaste at the wet spot on his own trousers, not looking at Clark at all.

Clark, gaze following Lex's, studied the stain thoughtfully. Way back when, Lex used to be able to come just from sucking him, and, well...some things never change, thought Clark with a grin of validation and something amazingly like relief.

And all too many do. The smile died all too quickly on Clark's lips. It used to be, after sex, that the two of them would fall asleep in each other’s arms, or, if they were in the car, at least snuggle and neck for a while. But Lex was re-buttoning his jacket, and--it was the bored glance at his watch that sent Clark's heart floating in dejection to around the bottom of his ribcage.

Weakly, Clark pushed himself back up into a sitting position. He'd tracked slush into the car, and his thick socks and the hem of his jeans were soaked and cold. The windows were fogged from all the heavy breathing and body heat. Clark turned to gaze at Lex with parted lips, willing him to look back, to give him one more glance now that their mutual passions were spent.

"Lex," he began. In spite of everything, things had to be different now, even if Lex and Lana got married. Because--

Lex still didn’t react; just stared straight ahead. Awfully quiet for a guy who used to talk so much, thought Clark with increasing unease, and a downcast glance out the steamed window just to make sure neither of his parents were anywhere within a mile of the vehicle.

He tucked away his spent and now-clammy cock, zipped his pants back up and fastened the snap with shaking fingers. "Lex..."

Lex’s flat voice, hollow in the quiet. "This changes nothing."

Clark let the unwelcome words sink in. How can you say that, he thought in dismay. It has to. Still, he endeavored to keep his tone calm and casual. He knew he shouldn’t say it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. "When we talk about Lana, we’re not really talking about her, are we?"

No response. Clark wasn't letting Lex off the hook that easily. Lana was like shorthand for their relationship. A reason for them to keep seeing each other, and they'd never acknowledged it. It was time they did, both of them.

He leaned closer, noting Lex's slight flinch at the touch of his hand on his jacketed arm.

"It’s not really about you and Lana, or Lana and me, is it?" Clark’s breath came out in clouds in the cold, still air inside the car. "It never has been."

Slowly, Lex shook his head, and Clark exhaled in relief..

"It’s about you and me. And we’re both just too damn proud to admit it."

Lex’s expression said it all. And just how long did it take you to notice that? He leaned forward with a muttered curse and used the dry side of his glove to clear a stripe of windshield so he could see.

"We’re both too proud," Clark repeated. He had to hold Lex's attention, make him listen, force him to agree, and then--"If one of us could just give an inch--"

Lex made a small sound of disgust. "You know, Clark, this whole damn town thinks I'm screwed up, but you’re the worst of all."

Clark sank back further into the seat. Because--it wasn’t as if he could deny it. Cheeks burning again, he continued.

"I wish I knew what went wrong between us, Lex. It’s like, one day, we just weren’t friends any more, and I’m not sure how, or when, or why it happened." He waited, hardly daring to breathe, for the answer he wanted so desperately. When it didn’t come, he added "Do you?"

Lex used to gift him with so many words, regale and entertain him with stories from history and from his youth that inspired, instructed, comforted and reassured, give advice and zero in on the heart of any matter with one single concise, on-target observation. Lex used to have all the answers to everything.

He offered nothing, now, just shifted into gear and, with that same curl of his lips that Clark remembered with a pang from earlier in the barn, gunned the engine.

"Thanks for the bachelor party,” was his terse comment. "I can’t wait for the wedding present.” A sharp nod at the passenger door. "Now, get out."

Clark fumbled for the door handle with a hard swallow. Once outside, he turned back, leaned down. "If you just---"

With an oath, Lex leaned over. "Move," he spat. Startled, Clark stepped back as Lex grabbed at the handle and slammed the door shut.

Within a moment, Clark was standing alone in the yard, watching with an ache in his heart as the Spyder roared off into the night.

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