Work Text:
2015
It’s rare that Clark enters through the window. Lex knows something has happened before he can get a word out. From the look on his face, a diluted happiness, a hint of guilt, Lex assumes he’s planning to visit his parents again. He goes home more often during the summer. Jonathan Kent is a capable man, but one man can only do so much on his own, and both he and Martha are close to fifty. After Jonathan’s heart issues a few years back, Lex stopped commenting when he smelled the farm on Clark’s jacket.
His suit is rumpled. He’s flown home in his work clothes, which is so uncharacteristic, a streak of fear charges up Lex’s spine for the first time in years. They stopped worrying about being found two apartments ago—even if LuthorCorp has located them, Lex has a decade between himself and whatever diagnosis his father had arranged—but as his powers have grown, Clark has become more secretive with everyone apart from Lex. For him to rush home at this hour, in this manner, with that expression, speaks of something critical.
“Forget your lunch?” Lex asks and gives him a wide-eyed, coquettish grin—the kind of look that usually disarms him. There was a time, back when they arrived in Canada, when Lex’s paranoia had forced Clark into an early maturity, but over the years they’ve reverted to their old ways. Whatever is happening, Lex is determined to stay calm.
Normally, when Clark has fucked up, he’s clasping his hands by this point and asking forgiveness, but he’s stock still beside the window, his chest heaving.
“Have you seen the news?” he asks.
Lex shakes his head and Clark’s expression shifts to relief. He strides forward and folds Lex in his arms. From the gentle way Clark strokes his back, the way he’s nuzzling his cheek, Lex can guess what Clark hasn’t said.
“How did he die?”
“Cancer.”
“Shame,” Lex says. “I should have gone back and pushed him out of a window.”
“They’re looking for us again. I guess your dad kept you as his heir.”
“That’s unexpected.”
Clark hasn’t let go. It reminds Lex of when they were younger, when he’d hold him through nightmares, through anxiety attacks whenever someone had looked at them for a second too long. He’s probably afraid that Lex will react badly to the news about his father, but he feels calm to his bones.
“Are you going back to work?” he asks.
Clark shakes his head. “I said I had a family emergency.”
“Good.”
Lex squeezes him hard and slips out of his arms to make coffee. They bought the machine last fall with Clark’s holiday bonus. While the coffee brews, Clark goes into the bedroom to change. He comes back in an oversized gray sweatshirt and jeans, and sits cross-legged on the second-hand couch. Lex has always known this day would come, only he didn’t expect it so soon, nor did he anticipate the windfall. They’ve gone from comfortable to billionaires inside a morning.
Clark’s expression is guarded when Lex joins him on the couch and hands him coffee. They drink in silence for a minute, until Lex notices the way Clark’s fingers tap nervously on the outside of the mug. Any harder and he might break it.
“I like these beans,” Lex says, lifting his mug a little higher as emphasis.
Clark hums a reply and swallows. “Lex, about your father . . .”
“Don’t worry, Clark. I’m not going to relapse.”
“I was going to say I’m sorry.”
Lex frowns. “Why?”
“Everything aside, he was still your dad. For him to leave his estate to you, I think a part of him must have regretted what he did.”
“I don’t know if it’s regret or arrogance, Clark. He wouldn’t have wanted LuthorCorp to pass outside of the family. If it’s really mine, I should sell it off in pieces in his memory.”
“You wouldn’t want to run it?”
Lex meets his eyes. For the past ten years, Clark has been his, just his, and he has been Clark’s. The biggest decision they make every day is what to cook for dinner. If they leave here, that’s all going to change. Clark will work for his parents and get a full-time job in Smallville or Metropolis. Lex will assume the running of LuthorCorp, which will be easier if he lives in the city. They’ll still see each other every day—Clark can get from this location to any other on the planet in seconds—but there will be more evenings apart, obstacles where there haven’t been any in years. Meetings. International business trips. Jonathan Kent. How is he going to react to the matching rings?
Clark won’t leave him. He stopped worrying about that five or six years ago when a young woman took a liking to him at work, and Clark reported on it while making pasta as if it had been nothing more than an amusing anecdote, then asked if Lex wanted garlic bread or just salad. But Lex is worried about Jonathan’s influence, about having to endure his lectures again for Clark’s sake. The media will invade their privacy and the relationship will no longer be something they share with only a few people—Clark’s parents by necessity, Lex’s former co-worker Emily who comes over for dinner sometimes, their landlord. It’ll be picked apart by people who’ve never met them.
Lex is prepared for that. Clark, on the other hand . . .
“I can turn it down. If that’s what you want, Clark, just say the word. We’ll have enough money, I’ll buy you your own newspaper. You can hire all the best reporters on the planet.”
Clark laughs at the joke (which is a joke only because of Clark’s ethics) and fits his hand to Lex’s knee. He speaks on a sigh.
“I can’t imagine going from this to living in the Luthor mansion.”
Like that, they’ve both accepted it. Lex pats the back of Clark’s hand while he finishes his coffee, then sets the mug aside and leans his head on Clark’s shoulder.
“Looks like I have some calls to make.”
Two and a half weeks later, Lex is standing in the mansion’s front hall. LuthorCorp wanted to send a private plane, but Lex said they’d get home under their own steam. Clark flew the boxes that Lex stuffed with their belongings from Canada to Kansas, and once there was nothing more they planned to keep, he flew with Lex (more slowly) to here. No one was going to check flight logs or ask for rental car receipts. If pressed, they’d paid cash for a private driving service to avoid airports.
The mansion has been well maintained. It doesn’t look all that different to when Lex lived here, although the Persian rug underfoot is new and he hasn’t seen the blue and white vase before. It’s overflowing with white roses and a note that reads “Welcome home.” The staff, as requested, is off for the night. He couldn’t risk anyone witnessing their arrival, and he didn’t want an audience for their return home. Lex takes a few steps inside and shoves his hands into his pockets.
“It’s huge.”
“Had you forgotten?” Clark asks with a laugh. “It’s bigger than our whole apartment building.”
His voice echoes in the cavernous hall. The flight hadn’t taken long, but Lex feels tired, eager to wash the wind off of him.
“I’m grabbing a shower,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at Clark, who is still standing just inside the door.
The corner of Clark’s mouth lifts. “Is that an invitation?”
He didn’t intend it that way, but Clark’s expression, the eagerness in his eyes, causes Lex’s pulse to spike. They were friends the last time they were in this house together. Clark has never been in his shower, in his bed. Lex cocks his head in that direction and they chase each other through the halls.
Showering takes longer than it should. Clark can actually stand his full height to wash his hair and shakes his head like a wet dog, grinning as the water spills down his face. The shower in their apartment was too cramped for both of them, so being pressed together wet against the tiles is a new experience. Lex can practically feel the happiness thrumming in Clark’s body. He’s grateful to his past self for sending the staff away and doesn’t keep his voice down.
They go from the shower to the bed. The sheets are brand new red silk that probably cost more than a month of rent, already turned down like at a hotel, and Lex groans as he slips underneath.
“I’d almost forgotten this feeling. Never imagined I’d sleep on silk again.”
“Our life wasn’t too bad.”
“It wasn’t bad at all.” Lex combs his fingers through Clark’s hair and kisses his mouth. “But now I can finally give you whatever you want.”
“What if I don’t want anything?”
“Everyone wants something, Clark. It’s human. When you figure out what it is, say the word. No expense is too big.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I owe you the rest of my life. That’s what the vows said, even if they were unofficial.”
Clark’s smile is soft. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved, but I want to do this first.”
He pulls Clark down with him. The bed is twice the size of the double they left behind. They roll around on it until the sheets are twisted and on the ground, and Lex needs another shower. After a quick one, they go down to the kitchen and rummage through the fridge, which has been stocked with food for their return.
“It’s like a grocery store in here,” Clark says as he picks over the offerings. They opt for strip steak and an enormous green salad that they eat standing at the kitchen counter. Halfway through the meal, Lex opens a can of Coca-Cola and remembers he has a dining room. They’ll use it for breakfast. The staff will be back and someone will probably cook for them. He spears a tomato and scowls.
“Something wrong?” Clark asks through a full mouth.
“Do we need a chef?”
“Probably not, but it’s someone’s job.”
“I suppose we could have them cook for your parents as well.”
“I don’t know how my dad’ll feel about that, but my mom would probably appreciate an occasional night off. Do you mind if we go and see them tomorrow?”
“We can go right now if you’d like. Is it too late?”
Clark shakes his head. His hair has mostly dried into curls that Lex reaches to push away from his forehead. It’ll be easier to sleep if they get this out of the way tonight.
“Then I’ll get dressed and we can head over,” Lex says as he carries his plate to the sink. Clark shooes him out of the kitchen with the promise he’ll be right up.
It takes two minutes to climb the stairs from the kitchen to the main floor, cross the house, and take another set up to the wing where his bedroom is located. He’s lived in houses like this all his life, so it didn’t occur to him what a pain in the ass it was until life was reduced to him and Clark co-existing in an apartment smaller than his study.
Like the rest of the house, his wardrobe has been maintained. He brushes his hand across a selection of cashmere sweaters. The one Clark gave him years ago is in tatters, though still warm enough he’ll put it on underneath sweatshirts on the coldest days. These are pristine. The abundance sours his stomach. Even a few weeks ago, just one of these would’ve been out of their budget. He chooses a charcoal v-neck, surprised that it still fits. Pants are another matter. It’s been ages since he’s worn wool trousers and these were tailored to his waistline a decade ago. They’re too tight in the thighs and he can’t get the zipper more than halfway up.
He drops them on the floor and opens the box labeled “Clothes” that Clark thoughtfully set in the closet. Lex lifts out his jeans, an inexpensive pair from a department store that are going to tear across the left knee any day. They’ll go shopping in Metropolis when Lex heads to LuthorCorp headquarters next week to sign some paperwork. He selects an artfully scuffed pair of leather shoes from the display and goes downstairs.
Clark is just coming up from the kitchen. With a kiss to Lex’s cheek, he zips to the bedroom and back, fully dressed, before Lex makes it to the garage door.
“Did you call your folks?” he asks.
“Yeah, while I was washing up. They’re waiting for us.”
Lex chooses a Porsche and climbs inside. “My license is expired,” he says, resting his hands on the steering wheel.
“Mine too,” Clark says from the passenger’s seat. “We’ll get everything sorted out.”
“We can ask your parents about your birth certificate tonight. Tomorrow, we can file a change of address and I’ll switch the internet bill to your name.”
Clark tilts his head. “Why would I need that?”
“Proof of residency.”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that.”
The engine responds as soon as Lex turns the key. He checks the fuel level—three-quarters tank. They slide out of the garage to the mansion’s broad drive, curving through the surrounding forest, onto Beresford Road. His hands turn the wheel by rote, aiming them for the Kent farm.
“Never imagined I’d be making this drive again,” he says.
The moon is almost full, illuminating their surroundings. Trees along the route have grown up. Houses are different too: new ones where there had been farmland a decade ago, the remains of a burned-out barn. Along the front of the property, the Kents’ fence is damaged, probably from a recent storm.
At the end of the long dirt drive, the farmhouse comes into view, no different to Lex’s memory of it. The porch lights are on. A pair of figures stand from a swing as the Porsche approaches and Lex can hear the smile in Clark’s breath. He’s out of the car before Lex has turned off the engine, held between the two of them. Lex’s instinct is to wait, allow them their privacy, but Clark jogs back to the car, to the driver’s side, and takes Lex’s hand to help him out.
“Sorry,” he says, his smile brilliant. “I should’ve waited for you.”
“It’s okay.”
Clark keeps hold of his hand as they step onto the porch. The boards creak under their weight, spongier than Lex recalls. Jonathan Kent, an arm around his wife’s shoulders, looks as severe as he did in the past, resurrecting the frustration Lex always felt around him. His heart speeds up and he grips Clark’s hand as he speaks, calm as he can manage.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kent.”
He sets his teeth and swallows, waiting for the rebuke. Martha breaks first, stepping forward with her arms extended, and gathers him into a hug.
“Oh, Lex. We’re so glad you’re home.”
Shocked, he pats her back and blinks at Jonathan Kent, who is still watching him.
“Come on inside,” Martha says, smiling at Lex, then at Clark. “I made coffee.”
A few minutes later, Lex is seated next to Clark on a floral loveseat, balancing a mug of coffee on his knees. It’s decaf given the hour. In contrast to Lex’s strict posture, Clark is reclined with his knees dropped apart, mug loose in his right hand resting on his thigh. His other arm is draped behind Lex’s shoulders so the ring is conspicuous, although he doubts Clark has done it on purpose. He’s self-conscious about the matching one on his hand.
It’s a warm night and the lullaby of crickets has him in a stupor. Clark and his mother have been making chit-chat since they sat down, leaving Lex to glance around the room, noting changes. Both of the Kents have more gray hair, and Jonathan’s forehead is well-lined from the sun. On the walls, photographs of Clark capture his childhood, his early teens, high school. There’s only one of him grown, taken with his mother in the front yard with the farmhouse behind them. Jonathan must have snapped it during one of Clark’s visits.
A sense of guilt spools in Lex’s gut and he frowns without meaning to, dipping his chin. Clark must sense the change in him because he glances sideways and shores up his hold of Lex’s shoulders.
“You alright?” he whispers.
Lex nods, leaning into him a bit, which helps.
“Lex,” Martha says in the motherly voice she used to bestow on him sometimes. “Clark has told us about what happened. We want you to know how sorry we are for everything your father put you through.
“I appreciate that, Mrs. Kent.”
“Martha, please.”
Lex takes a long sip of coffee and sets the mug aside before he drops it. He folds his hands together on his lap. “I probably owe both of you an apology for taking him away for so long. When I asked him to get me out of Belle Reve, I didn’t anticipate he’d stay with me for so many years, but I’m not sorry he did.”
Clark meets his eyes. “Lex, you don’t have to do this. It was my decision.”
With Clark’s parents watching, Lex lays a hand on his knee. “I’ll do anything to protect his secret. Anything.”
“Does that include destroying the evidence you have on him?” Jonathan asks.
“I’ll let Clark make that decision. But if he wants that, yes. I only wanted to understand. I never meant to—”
He stops himself before a lie tumbles out. He’s not entirely sure his past motives were pure. Maybe there had been a desire for revenge mixed in, punishment for the lies. Of course, he sees the necessity for those now. If Clark hadn’t been successful in getting Lex out of the asylum, those secrets might have been dragged out of him.
“I’ll make him happy.”
Jonathan’s expression is bemused, but Martha is smiling at him in that genuine way that reminds Lex of his own mother.
“Will you two be living at the Luthor mansion?” she asks.
“For now,” Clark says. “Though I imagine we’ll probably end up in Metropolis. Lex will need to be there for work, and I’m planning to apply at a few papers.”
It’s the first Lex has heard of this plan and he perks up imagining the two of them in the penthouse, still enormous compared to their apartment but cozier than a mansion. They could live in the city during the week and spend long weekends in Smallville.
“There’s a paper here in town,” Jonathan says with a frown.
“I’ll apply there too. There’s no guarantee the larger ones will take me.”
Lex laughs. “I offered to buy him his own newspaper, but he turned me down.” He squeezes Clark’s knee and maintains his smile. After a moment, Clark’s hand settles on his.
“It’s late and I’ve done a lot of flying today. I think we’ll head home for now, come back tomorrow once we’ve gotten some sleep.”
“You’re welcome to stay,” Martha says, rising.
“Thanks, but I’m really looking forward to a king-sized bed.”
Clark hugs both of his parents, then places a hand on Lex’s lower back. Martha gives Lex a quick hug and Jonathan extends a hand.
“Maybe we’ll see the two of you for breakfast,” he says.
Lex smiles. “I’d like that. And the two of you should come by for dinner sometime. We can show off our culinary skills.”
Outside on the porch, as the Kents are waving at them through the front window, he passes the keys to Clark, who drives them back to the mansion as Lex stares lazily out the window. He drums his fingers on the arm rest.
“That wasn’t so terrible,” Clark says.
“Your dad almost smiled at me.”
“He likes you more than you think.”
It’s wishful thinking on Clark’s part and civility on Jonathan’s, but for tonight, for the sake of peace, Lex keeps that to himself.
They go straight from the garage to the bedroom and get under the covers from the same side. Clark must’ve made the bed earlier when Lex was in the shower. The silk is buttery smooth, cool to the touch. Lex crawls to the far side of the bed and fits the pillow beneath his head. The bedside light goes out. Rustling. Clark’s head settles on the same pillow.
“Isn’t the point of a bigger bed to have more space?” Lex says.
“I’m not used to it yet.”
Yawning, Clark drapes an arm over Lex’s side like he’s done a thousand times—more than a thousand times. So many, Lex’s chest is full to bursting at the thought. Although they’re muted by the mansion’s stone walls and thick stained-glass windows, he can still hear the crickets. Dimly, he wonders if crickets in Scotland make the same chirp, if the sound was any comfort to the stones when they were moved here, like arms around him in the dark.
He pictures the mansion as it would have stood along the ocean, its towering stone walls no match for harsh salt air. Left in place, it might have crumbled into the sea by now or been reinforced with wood or metal or other stones, walls no longer its walls, a castle no longer the castle it had been. Instead it stands, renewed, across the ocean where waves can’t touch it.
Wind could destroy it faster, like the black storm that twisted through downtown the first time they lived here, but even if the tower falls, there’s a shelter in the basement that will hold them, and Clark could re-set the stones. Smiling into the dark, Lex presses his face against the warm curve of his throat.
“We could get a smaller bed.”
“I’ll just sleep on your half.”
Lex laughs a little and takes a long breath he lets out in a sigh. “None of my old pants fit.”
“Doubt I’d fit mine either. We’ll have to go through everything. Want to have a yard sale?”
“I don’t remember how to be him, Clark.”
He hears the waver in his own voice too late. Clark is already tightening his arms, holding Lex so securely, he couldn’t escape if he tried, if he wanted to, which of course he doesn’t. He hugs back as fiercely.
“We don’t have to stay here,” Clark says. “We can go right now—anywhere you want, just name the place.”
For most people, saying something like that would be lip service, but Clark is being serious. He’d get up from this bed, leave behind the things Lex so carefully packed, leave behind another life. They won’t suffer this time, not with Lex’s billions. He can buy an island for the two of them, fly the Kents in for special occasions, or they could maintain apartments any place they liked—Zurich, Kigali, Lima. Nothing is off limits.
“I don’t want to become my father.”
“Then you won’t.”
“It’s inside me. That same ruthlessness, that same ambition. The desire to be someone. What if one day it becomes more important to me than anything?”
Clark’s arms loosen and he rearranges their positions so they’re looking at each other across the pillow. Between them, Clark holds his hands.
“How would you feel about a barn wedding?”
“What? Where did that come from?”
“I’ve been thinking about it since we got back from my folks’ place. It’s legal here now. I know it would mean a lot to my mom.”
“You want to legally tie yourself to someone who might one day wake up and decide to conquer the world?”
“Well . . .” Clark clears his throat. “I mean, I’m awfully strong. I’m pretty confident that I could keep you in bed on a morning like that, make you some pancakes. You usually feel better once you’ve eaten.”
Lex squeezes his hands. “Won’t your father mind all of the foot traffic?”
“Probably.” Clark laughs. “Maybe we ought to hold it here.”
“Where, out in the gardens?”
“Sure. If it rains that day, we can move everyone inside.”
“I won’t let it rain on our wedding,” Lex says.
“Okay.” Clark kisses his forehead. “You’re in charge of the weather.”
Lex’s face feels hot but he plays along. “When are we doing this?”
“I don’t know. Let’s say a couple months from now, late October. Is that enough time?”
“If you wanted it tomorrow, Clark, I’d make it happen.”
Smiling at him in the way he doesn’t smile at anyone else, Clark brushes his cheek. “You’ve stopped frowning.”
Lex leans in and kisses him for a long time, long enough that he forgets whatever he was worried about. His hands mold themselves to Clark’s biceps, his elbows, the stair-step and curve of his ribs. They slide up and over his shoulders to claw affection into his back. Tomorrow they’ll begin the excavation of their lives, construct a future, but, for now, antique stones cradle them among wave after wave of cricket song. Lex is safe in Clark’s arms. The dark thoughts ping and scatter.