Eighteen Drabbles About Lex Luthor
My man love my first love: Lex was fourteen the first time he had sex with a man. It hurt like a son of a bitch, and he didn't know enough to ask for better preparation. His advisor at Excelsior Prep really tried to live up to the school's aims," making a man out of him". He was sixteen the first time he fell in love. His freshman year at Princeton; Adam had been nineteen, and a junior. Lionel paid him $100, 000 to transfer schools, because "my son doesn't need distractions, and you certainly don't want this kind of trouble on your record, young man."
My closetness and pain: He dated several suitable girls, with names culled from the social register. Brought them home to shine in the spotlight of his father's parties, and practiced his dancing and public hand shaking with them. He understood a public vs. private image, and the "Luthor name".
He fucked more boys than he could count, in the back of dark clubs that closed before the health inspectors could cite them, or in the bathrooms of trendy strobe lit ones before they could make the "what's not" lists.
The girls all thought he was quite the catch. Lex just thought he was caught.
My lying my deceiving: It got so subterfuge became a way of life for him. It was as easy to lie as it was to breathe. Easier even, compared to his childhood wheezing. Lionel taught him well, even if he was the recipient of most of Lex's lies now.
Lex lied to the press when they asked if he was seeing anyone special. " I have a girlfriend. She's an old friend of the family, and prefers that we keep things quiet.
It wasn't until he met Clark that he understood it hurt to be on the receiving end of such lies.
My rivers keep on crying: Lex died and was reborn on the same day. He'd been banished to Smallville, a life more closeted than it had been in Metropolis. His life was as shit filled as the factory. Nothing to do but get some aggression out by taking his Porsche out at full speed down the highway.
He didn't remember hitting the bale of wire, or the fall into the water. He didn't remember the pressure on his lungs. What he'll always recall is flying over Smallville skies, the most exciting moment of his life; and Clark's lips waking him up for the first time.
My father my action man: Clark's father did not question the miracles in his life. From the adorable toddler who appeared in front of him and his wife on the worst day in Smallville history, to the day that now grown boy saved the life of his worst enemy's son, Jonathan took it all in stride. It was enough to know that God obviously cared about his family. Too many questions, and you got answers you didn't want to deal with.
The biggest miracle, Jonathan thought, was the day the beautiful Martha Clark asked the crass and uncouth Jonathan Kent for his finance class notes.
My hiding in the crowd: From the time he was old enough to understand, Clark's parents taught him the importance of fitting in, not standing out. To be perceived as different was dangerous. Bad people would come and take him away if he showed any of his "gifts" in public. It was hard for him to think of them as gifts when they caused his family so much pain, but Martha and Jonathan insisted they were. Sometimes, when he used them to help save the people he loved, he almost believed it.
Mostly, he did as he was told, and tried to pass for human.
My mother my sisters eyes: Lex has his mother's blue eyes, and once upon a time, he had her ginger hair. She's been dead for almost a decade, and he's still discovering other traits of hers in him. Sometimes his father taunts him with this. "You're just like your mother, Lex. Weak." He doesn't understand that to be anything like Lillian - to have her blood rushing inside him - is a compliment to Lex. It's like her memory is making him whole.
She was sick, but never weak where it counted. Because of Lillian, Lex is not his father's son. He wishes he could thank her.
My seniors and their prying: Lionel plants bugs around the castle, and hires spies to watch Lex around Smallville and Metropolis. He's always waiting for Lex to fail, and when he succeeds instead, it's just a sign he's failing to do what Lionel expects.
Jonathan watches him with just as much distrust. Says he's a bad influence on his son, and will surely grow to be no good. Lex thinks it's almost funny, how much the two enemies agree about his inherent worthlessness.
Lionel calls Clark "remarkable boy". What should be words of high praise make Lex's blood curdle. "Don't trust him," he tells Clark.
My freedom my prison cell: Clark envies Lex's freedom. Not the money or power, but permission. Lex can do anything he wants, and rarely feels the consequences. Clark wonders if he ever second-guesses himself, feeling guilty for sins he committed or omitted.
For his part, Lex wishes he had had the boundaries Clark's parents set for him. They make finding time to be alone together difficult at times, but he knows they're a sure sign the Kents love Clark, and care about his welfare. He's perfectly willing to take the time needed to earn their trust. It means more to him than Lionel's ever did.
My tempting to destroy: When Lex gives in to his rage and frustration about his father no one is safe around him. Books and artifacts are swept from the shelves; employees chastised and often fired without due cause. Everyone steers clear. He hates himself for his anger, because it makes him feel like he's twelve. It makes him no better than Lionel.
Better days are when he succumbs to his temptations about Clark, whole rooms are destroyed, but he doesn't mind. He doesn't even notice the crack of wooden bedposts, or the crumble of stone walls when Clark is breaking so beautifully underneath him.
My fantasies my lost control: Lex often wondered how it was that everyone didn't see Clark the way he did. Didn't lie awake thinking about how he looked hovering above him, imagining peeling off the layers, flannel to cotton to warm, bare skin? Long before he ever touched that beloved flesh, he knew how it would feel.
For months, Lex refused to give in to his own urges. He held himself in check, limited himself to long looks, and subtle touches. Clark flirted back, in an odd mix of shyness and aggression. Finally, it was Clark who insisted they stop playing games, and kissed him.
My confusion disillusion: No matter how many times he plots the event out on paper and pc, Lex can't figure out the truth of his rescue. He keeps the ruined Porsche, and all the other detritus of that day in a special room at the castle. Whenever he has a free moment, he's in there, trying to decipher Clark and his secrets.
He wants to know everything about Clark, inside and out. He's always been the sort of boy who takes apart his possessions to see how they tick. He does not want to leave Clark broken, the way he left his toys.
My hero my schoolboy: Lex learned early on that Clark was more than the bright, wholesome farm boy he seemed. He could never figure out how Clark always knew when he was in trouble. He'd appear in his office just as the latest thug was about to do him harm. Better than any of the security people Lex hired, or the local police. Clark was his rescuer, his savior in every way. Sometimes Lex wondered if that was altogether healthy, especially when he was adding another item to the locked room that held all the answers to the questions he'd stopped asking out loud.
My physical abuse: Sick as it was, Clark loved that Lex was a mass of little scars -- a sign of Lex's strength.
From the tiny seam bisecting his delicious lip, to the small knot on the back of his left knee, Clark touched them all, traced them with his tongue. It wasn't that he liked it when Lex got hurt. Far from it. Clark tried his heroic best to keep that from happening. What he did like were the signs of Lex's resilience, his perseverance through almost insurmountable odds. A Lex in need - brave but scared - made him seem beautifully human.
My loneliness my aching brain: There's an old Paul Simon song that goes "Maybe I think too much". Lex found it once in his mother's college record collection. No one had listened to it since Lionel had hidden the discs away. He had wanted no reminders of the woman she had been before they married.
When his mother was so ill, Lex researched her condition until his eyes were stinging and sore, but he found no answers. After Lillian died, he pulled out the dusty records, and listened to them alone in his room. He wondered if he or his father ever really knew her.
My pounding in the head: On days - or rather, nights - Lex comes home from the plant nursing a headache, Clark always knows. Lex thinks Clark's hands are better medicine than any of the drugs he would have taken not so long before.
Warm hands, softly stroking his temple. Strong hands with a grip that makes him forget pain. When Clark touches him, Lex can truly take a break.
Clark thinks Lex gets more concussions than a cartoon character under a falling anvil. With all the people trying to hurt him, it's no wonder Lex gets frequent headaches. Really, though, his biggest headache is named Lionel.
Machismo my manhood: It isn't that Clark is shy anymore. Months of being with Lex have cured him of any semblance of blushing virginity. Still, he puts on the same act for almost everyone else. Innocent and a little dim, good old Clark Kent, the Charlie Brown of Smallville.
Clark needs Lex to lose control. Lex has to steer the ship at LexCorp, and every duel with his father is choreographed like the most intricate dance. Luckily, what works for Clark, works for Lex as well. Clark slips the red ring onto his finger, and everything that holds them back goes away.
My wanting just to scream: The worst summer of their lives. Alone in the big city, this is not how Clark imagined spending his vacation. Once he'd begged Lex to run away with him. He'd had such vivid pictures of how they'd spend their time.
None of it involved Lex's plane crashing into the ocean, or his own parents hating him for causing his sister's death.
Lex's Metropolis is strong and sexy. Doors open for him, options are endless. Clark's foray into city life is different. Every pathway is tainted, every story sordid. He can't wash the filth off his hands or his mind.