Spuds

by a campbell

Smallville, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor

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Lex wasn’t sure how much time had passed since sleep had claimed him for what should have been the night, but it couldn’t have been that long. He was awakened by Clark prodding his arm, then grasping gently and shaking. “Lex.” He opened his eyes, then closed them again at once.

The mattress dipped as he rolled onto his side, away from Clark. Still so tired, and unaccountably grouchy despite all the sleep since coming home from the plant. Not to mention the stress-relieving sex after Clark arrived at the manor.

Clark pushed at the middle of his back with an exasperated hiss,. Lex curled up into a ball and pulled the blanket over his head, but he could still hear Clark’s voice, muffled only slightly, bleak, urgent, accusing.

“Lex.”

What the hell could it be?. Why couldn’t he just go to sleep, and stay asleep, for Christ’s sake. Why did he have to have so goddamn much energy? All the time? But still, something could be wrong, so, “What?”

“Lex, did you eat when you got back from the hospital?”

“No.” Lex yanked the pillow up from under his head and folded it over his ear. “Don’t tell me you woke me up just to ask me that?”

“Why not?”

“I was beat, Clark. Just came straight up here and lay down.”

Clark pulled the blanket down and cold air on his back made Lex swear on a gasp.

“Well, I know with everything that was going on, you didn’t have time for lunch, and for breakfast you always just have black coffee. When was the last time you ate?

Lex thought a moment. Anything to shut him up. “Friday, lunch. Business meeting.”

“Lex,” Clark sounded sincerely shocked. “It’s Sunday morning! Really early, but, still. You’re starving yourself! Or at least you’re going to make yourself sick. You need some food. Mom always says you don’t eat near enough, and this is just ridiculous.”

“Nice of her to care. Now let me sleep.”

“Lex,” And Lex tried not to notice how Clark’s voice went quiet, all soft and concerned. Or how it made him want to wake up and gather Clark into his arms. Almost. He resisted. He felt a finger trail down the bare skin of his back, and he held himself still. “I care about you. And your health.”

“That’s nice, but I never get sick.”

“Bull. You will, if you don’t start taking care of yourself. Well, I’m assuming you have teams of cooks and chefs on duty around the clock. You have ‘teams’ of everything else. Can they cook something for us? ‘Cause I’m kind of hungry, too.”

“I let them go home at a reasonable hour.” He stretched and sighed, and, relenting, turned for a glance at Clark. “And why would I need a “team” for the kitchen? I’m usually the only one here, and I do most of my dining out.” Clark was gazing at him with curiosity, as though he were wondering where all that produce went, then, but he didn’t say so.

“When you do eat,” Clark grumbled. “That’s it, Lex. No more arguments. I’m cooking you some supper. Got anything good down in that fancy kitchen of yours? Like in the freezer?”

“I don’t know.” Lex turned over again. “Probably not.” He just wanted to sleep. And sleep.

Clark was blessedly quiet, but only for a moment. “There’s the stuff in your latest produce order. Carrots, potatoes.”

“Yeah,” said Lex, hugging the pillow tight over his free ear. The perennial produce, that perfect excuse to see Clark. Those fine-quality fruits and vegetables he never actually got around to eating and eventually gave to his staff to take home and share with their families.

Clark yanked the pillow from Lex’s grip and tossed it across the room, where it landed somewhere in a dark corner. He could be remarkably, persistently, juvenile when he wanted something. Lex wouldn’t go quite so far as to think, “spoiled,” but…

Instead, he spread himself half over Lex’s body, and let his tongue slip out to give Lex’s earlobe a little lick.

“Is there milk in the refrigerator?” His voice was a husky whisper near Lex’s ear.

“Maybe some, for coffee.” Lex choked out, Clark’s weight pressing him into the mattress. If Clark kept licking his ear like that, he just might wake up.

“What about butter? I know there’s salt.”

“Butter? Probably.”

“Then, let’s go.” Clark gave his back another light shove, then nudged him with one warm knee. “I know just what you need.”

“I’ve already had it,” Lex said in a low voice, rolling over on his back in time to catch Clark’s blush. Just one last bid at staying where he was.

“I mean…” A darker flood of color to Clark’s cheeks, with an embarrassed grin. “You need more than sex to stay alive, Lex.”

Lex stretched and sighed. Then flashed Clark a sleepy grin. “Debatable… But it’s a start.”

Clark shook his head and shoved at him again. “Oh, no. Come on, get up. I’m not much of a cook, but we’ll take care of this.”

Lex hugged the covers to his slim body for one more moment, and then swung his legs over the side of the bed with a sigh of resignation.

Anything to shut him up.

***

“You don’t have to do this, Clark.”

“I do, so. Quit resisting me.”

“Like I ever can.”

A snort. “That’s cute.”

Lex slumped on one of the metal stools, wondering if maybe he could prop his eyes open with toothpicks from the supply drawer. Clark was as unswervable as Martha when his mind was made up, so there was no point in arguing further. At the moment, he was running the tap hard, filling a large saucepan with water. Lex folded his arms on the countertop and let his head drop down as Clark turned to rummage through clattering utensils in the top drawer by the stove, chattering as he did so.

“I saw this comedian guy on Comedy Central,” He bent over the Kent Farm produce box to fish out three big redskin potatoes and juggled them as he went on. “Remember the Irish Potato Famine?” One of the potatoes dropped from his hand and rolled across the floor, stopping at the stove. With a whispered curse, Clark dove after it, then stood up to hold all three potatoes under the running water at the sink.

“Yeah,” said Lex.

“He was, like, ‘People starved! And why? Because they ran out of potatoes.’ Then he’d pause, like, can you believe it? He was like, “Why didn’t you just eat some ‘corn’?” Clark chuckled, a low rumble that began in his chest and spilled out of his lips in goofy giggles. “Then he’d go, in this weenie voice, ‘I don’t like corn.’”

Lex groaned and shook his head. “That’s really hilarious, Clark.”

A few minutes must have passed. Lex didn’t think it was possible to fall asleep sitting up on a cold metal stool, but he seemed to have done it. Clark must have spoken his name; he jerked up to see his indulgent smile and raised eyebrows.

“You awake?”

A slow shake of the head. “I want you to know: I’m here under duress.”

Clark gave him one of those adoring grins, gleam of white teeth, affectionate gaze, then a duck of the head. Looking so adorably sleepy and mussed in his t-shirt and sweats that Lex contemplated forgiving being dragged downstairs in the middle of a frosty winter night to a vast cold kitchen. Or grabbing him again right there, given the energy.

“You won’t be sorry, I promise.” Clark, happily unaware of Lex’s unwholesome thoughts, placed the saucepan on the stove top and added a few shakes of salt. Then he looked from one side of the kitchen to the other and back at Lex. “So where can I find a vegetable peeler?”

“Try the top drawer,” Lex suggested.

“Oh. Okay.” Clark flipped the burner on, grabbed a metal bowl from the cupboard and dropped onto the stool beside Lex. He began peeling with precision, nicking a couple of eyes off the first potato. Lex could feel the warmth of his body, craved it, and without thinking, he leaned closer. Clark turned to him with a smile as he worked.

“We could leave the peels on. Mom makes ‘em that way sometimes. The peels are supposed to be good for you. That’s where all the vitamins are, Mom says.”

“Whatever.” Said Lex. But, vitamins or not, Clark kept peeling and scraping. “What are we having?

“What do you think? Mashed potatoes. One of the few things I can cook.”

Lex tried to hide a chuckle. Okay. Even Armageddon could probably be sweetened by some mashed potatoes.

***

“Okay, they’re ready.” Lex figured he must have dozed off again; he had vague memories of Clark’s warm hand gliding up and down his back, of more kisses, nuzzles and licks, but it was all a soft haze. Must be the last remnants of the fever. He was still so tired…he lifted his head. Clouds of steam billowed around Clark as he poured hot water down the drain.

”Careful,” Lex said in a mumble. “Steam burns.” He wondered if Clark realized he wasn’t using a pot holder.

“I’m okay.”

Clark was busily hacking slices from the stick of cold butter and dropping them onto the mounds of potatoes in the saucepan. He began poking around in the drawer again.

“Now, I need a potato masher.”

Lex sighed. “All these demands. Clark, if there’s one in this kitchen, I don’t know where it is.”

Clark frowned as he pulled open another drawer. “Haven’t spent much time down here, have you? Well, kitchens are pretty much my favorite place in any house—except for bedrooms, that is—“ he stepped back and bent down for a quick nuzzle of Lex’s ear, “and I know from past experience there’s a mixmaster up in this cupboard.”

Lex wasn’t sure what past experience he was referring to, but knowing Clark occasionally liked to hang out and visit with the head cook, he supposed there was an explanation. And if it wasn’t that, he wasn’t going to ask.

The whir of the mixer precluded more conversation for the next minute or two. Clark turned off the power switch to get milk from the refrigerator. He poured a small amount in and beat some more. Then a few more shakes of salt.

“Now, we need something to drink.” Before Lex could answer, he grabbed a glass, poured, and slid the glass across the counter to Lex’s elbow. “Have some milk. You can’t eat mashed potatoes without milk.”

“I don’t drink milk,” Lex protested.

Clark flashed him an expression of semi-disgust. “How about I warm it for you? Will you drink it, then?”

With that heat vision of yours? He thought. But all he said was, “Clark. Do I look like a baby? Or an old man?”

“Hm… not yet. But you could let me baby you a little. Why not?” Clark dragged another stool over, sat down beside him and slipped an arm around his shoulder. Lex couldn’t resist leaning into the warmth of his body.

Clark’s voice was soft in his ear, almost crooning. “Come on, Lex. Let me baby you. Someone needs to.” He grabbed the big stoneware bowl of now-fluffy potatoes and a spoon from the silverware drawer. He dug the spoon into the heap of potatoes and lifted it up, really full. “Okay. Now open up.”

Lex gave him a withering stare.

“You’re being an idiot.”

“Come on. Just humor me. They’re good for you.”

“Now, open up. Wider.”

Clark’s palm rested warm and moist on his bare head, held him steady.

Lex closed his eyes and tasted. Potatoes, butter. Salt. Pepper. “Mmm,” he mumbled obligingly. But he couldn’t deny that Clark was right. The potatoes were good.

“How are they?” Clark waited anxiously for the assessment.

Lex made him wait. He held the potatoes in his mouth for a long moment while Clark fidgeted.

“Not bad.”

Clark chuckled and insisted on feeding him one or two more spoonfuls, then handed the spoon to Lex, pushed the bowl in between them, and grabbed a spoon of his own.

“Lex, has anyone ever made you potatoes before?” He dug the utensil into the potatoes, lifted out a gigantic spoonful, and turned to Lex with raised eyebrows and a smile. Lex just stared at the heap of potatoes on the spoon

“Once in awhile. But not nearly as good as these.”

“That’s because they’re homemade. By someone who loves you. Extra love. That’s what Mom always says. Which makes them taste better. For my brave friend.” He snuggled close again and planted a potato-y kiss on Lex’s lips.

Lex felt his mouth curve into a smile that he realized must be almost as silly as one of Clark’s, then let his tongue glide over his lips. “Best meal I ever had.”

***

Finally, blessedly, they were back in bed. Clark had eaten the lion’s share of the potatoes—-finished the entire batch, in fact, so thoroughly that Lex had teased him that no one would even have to wash the saucepan in which they were cooked. But Lex had to admit that Clark was right: he did feel a bit better with something in his stomach. Comforted. The taste of the spuds still lingered in his mouth, despite the fact that they had both brushed their teeth upon coming back upstairs. And, now, sleep.

“Let me cook for you again, someday, okay?” Clark’s voice was warm and friendly through the darkness as he shifted closer to Lex under the covers.

“Sure,” said Lex. The food had been welcome, but couldn’t compare with having Clark’s warm body beside him again, salving memories of the long lonely summer and early fall that were still vivid in his mind.

He squeezed Clark’s hand under the blankets before finally falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, smiling as he felt strong fingers fold around his.

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