title: in the dark
author: jessica
mail: thegirlinglasses@illuminatedtext.com
date: october 29, 2002
notes: For jenn, who told me not to change a word, for Jordan, who told me to change a couple, and, for Buni, who suggests Cyndi Lauper's All Through the Night for the soundtrack.
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The first night I find Clark in my room, he doesn't say anything, just looks at me like this happens all the time. I open my eyes and he's there, with a smile that cuts through the darkness. It's the same smile I saw at the Talon this afternoon. It had me out of my chair and ready to cross the room when Chloe got a hold of Clark's arm and they were gone. He offers it to me again tonight, with a silent apology.
He pulls off his shirt, boots, then jeans, making a pile on the floor and it feels like we've been here before. I move over, giving Clark room, leaving him the left side and already it belongs to him. He stands, naked except for his boxers and for a moment I think he's waiting for a sign. But this is only the first night and he's already lost his shirt and his jeans.
He lifts the sheet and crawls in next to me; a hand comes to rest on my stomach, curling in a slightly possessive gesture. I let my fingers tangle in the dark curls of Clark's head, pillowed on my chest. He laughs quietly at my involuntary moan as a pair of soft lips brush my skin.
I wish I could see his eyes. I know it's Clark, but in the days apart, it seems everything has changed.
I don't wake the second night until morning, opening my eyes to Clark pulling on his jeans. I hide beneath the covers, stealing glances, and wait for him to see me.
"Hey," he says with a grin. It's more than 'good morning' - better - and I want to hear him say it again.
"I should get you a key," I tell him, rolling over onto an elbow to watch him tie his boots. "Enrique needs his sleep too."
Clark smiles again, this new one with just a bit of mischief that I'm beginning to love. He's across the room before I'm really awake and the kiss he drops on my head catches me off guard.
"See you tonight," he calls, out the door before I can kiss him back.
I'm awake this time, waiting, when Clark arrives, just after one, carrying a blanket. He wraps me up in it, and then in his arms.
"You're always so cold."
"I have blankets here," I say.
"I know," Clark says, holds me tighter. "But this one's better."
I wait for his eyes to close and lean in, kissing him like I wanted to that morning, like we haven't before. Quietly, like it never has to go anywhere. It's the fingers in mine, pulling the blanket up over our shoulders that convinces me otherwise.
When Clark leaves in the morning, the blanket stays. It's still early, and I give myself a moment before the day has to begin. This blanket is better, hand sewn and worn soft in all the right places. It smells like hay and home and Clark.
"Do you think this is weird?" Clark asks me the next night. He's laid out on the bed, the covers pulled back, and letting me run a hand up and down his back, play with the curls at his neck.
"Why do you think it is?"
He rolls over, and my hand follows, resting low on his stomach. I trace the muscles, watching them contract with Clark's breaths, before he captures my hand in his. Clark's large hand covers mine completely and he presses it against his fast beating heart. He turns his head, close to mine on the same pillow, and puts a soft kiss on my lips.
"We're still best friends, but it's so much more than that."
"Yeah," I whisper, and shift a little closer.
"And we've barely even kissed," Clark moans as my hand slips down, under the waistband of his boxers.
"Yeah," I say again, louder this time, a warning before I take Clark's mouth.
He's not unexpected anymore. Enrique leaves the door unlocked, and Clark shows up most nights, just after one.
Business calls me to Metropolis and, even in the penthouse atop Luthor Tower, my eyes open, just after one, waiting for Clark. I close them again, reminded that the three hours between us right now are so much more than the six years I thought was keeping us apart.
I close my eyes, almost asleep again, wrapped up in the warmth of Clark's blanket, when the phone rings.
"Lex Luthor," I answer, trying to hide my tired voice in professionalism.
"Mr. Luthor, there's a Clark Kent down here. He says you're expecting him, but his name isn't on the list."
"Send him up."
"Sir?"
"Send him up," I say again, firm. "And Jack?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Put Mr. Kent on the priority list."
"Yes, sir."
My father's going to hear about this tomorrow, but somehow it's Clark that makes me nervous. I get up out of bed, a little embarrassed about his blanket wrapped around me, and open the door to wait for him. This isn't Smallville - this is my city - but now that Clark's here with me, I don't know what's happening next. I love how he makes me nervous.
I watch him step off the elevator. He looks both ways, sees me and smiles, before coming to stand in front of me.
"Hey, Clark."
"Linus," he teases, pulling me towards him with the blanket. The kiss is sweet, so much more innocent them should be coming from the mouth of this boy who snuck out of his house - out of his town - to see me.
"I don't think your parents let you drive out here to make out with me," I say, pulling Clark inside, and closing the door.
"Didn't drive," he throws back over his shoulder with a grin and a walk to the bedroom that's no longer innocent.
"Clark?"
He's waiting, cross-legged on the bed, looking up at me beneath impossibly long lashes. I sit down at the edge, and he moves forward to meet me. Front to side, Clark rests his chin on my shoulder, and pulls the blanket around to cover us both.
He's hard against my hip, breathing hot and wet on my skin. I reach down to adjust my burgeoning erection but Clark beats me there, rubbing with the heel of his palm in slow, hard circles. I reach behind to pull his shirt out of his jeans, and press my cool hand against his flushed skin. We're sweating with arousal, crowded under the blanket. Clark pulls at my shirt, baring skin and biting, licking the salt away.
He pushes up against me, little movements of his hips to match the moaning sounds in my ear. The moans become my name, again and again. Encouraged, I pull Clark into my lap, and ruck his shirt up and over his head.
It's my name again, as Clark pulls himself away, that makes me stop.
"What?"
"I have to tell you something first," he pants. "But I'm not sure how."
I grin, wondering how he can still be this innocent in my lap. He loosens his grip on me, just a little. Deep breaths calm us both down.
"Start with the big words, Clark. The small ones will come."
"They're all big words," he says, shaking his head.
"So, just start at the beginning," I suggest. I bring my hand up, stroking his flushed cheek, then back down, resting on his chest. "Take a deep breath and..."
He does and I hold my hand against the rise and fall of his chest. He looks down to see my touch and back up to my eyes.
"I'm an alien."
"Jesus Christ," I sputter, my readied response lost in confusion. Clark tumbles to the floor when I get up off the bed, start pacing the room. "Jesus Christ, Clark. I thought you were going to tell me you're in love with me."
I stop, watching him watch me from the floor. With wild hair and bright eyes, he looks so young, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his bare chest.
"I thought I should tell you this first."
Clark smiles up at me, like this is just every other conversation we've had. He looks up at me with complete trust in his eyes, like he knows what's going to happen next. Maybe that's what he's been waiting for.
"You didn't drive here." He nods, agreeing. "You... flew?"
"Ran," he offers casually. My mind's racing to match my feet. I wish these pyjamas had pockets; I don't know what to do with my hands.
"You're fast."
"Yes."
"You're strong."
"Yes."
They're not really questions but Clark answers every one without hesitation. He doesn't offer, instead letting me work it through. Until I stop, longer than he expected, with the biggest fact hanging in the air between us.
"Ask me, Lex."
I hold out a hand, and pull him up to his feet. I wrap my arms around his waist, squeeze him tight and keep Clark right here, in my eyes.
"I hit you. That day on the bridge."
"Yes." It's such a tiny word.
There's something inside me that wants to scream; that's the part that's angry about the lies.
But there's a bigger part of me standing in this room, with Clark in my arms. His head's on my shoulder now, teeth biting playfully into my neck, a sharp jolt that goes straight to my cock.
Clark is done with the big words, and now he wants to move on.
My first night back in Smallville, I open my eyes, not quite sure if I'm awake. The clock to my right says 1:22 AM in fuzzy red letters.
"Clark?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
I push myself up, blink away the darkness and see him, sitting at the foot of the bed. He's still wearing his jacket but the boots are off and lined up neatly underneath a chair.
He's staring. It makes me shiver and the blanket falls off my shoulders. Clark ducks his head, shyly, making me laugh. He's seen so much more of me than this.
"Not feeling very bold tonight?" I ask.
He smiles, getting up, undressing just like every other night. With his boxers on top of the pile on the chair, Clark joins me in bed. Spooned up behind me, under the blanket, his breath is hot on my neck when he speaks.
"I have something to tell you."
"Ice vision?" I guess. He laughs and I assume I'm wrong.
"I was thinking about you in school today." He whispers it like a secret.
"I was thinking about you during a conference call with my father. I think that trumps your Math teacher."
I'm hoping for a laugh but he's quiet instead.
"Clark?" I try to roll over to see his face but he holds me still. I cover the hand on my stomach with my own and wait.
"I have to stop myself thinking about you nine, ten times a day. Just in case I give something away." He pulls his hand out from under mine, only to reach for it again, twining our fingers together and squeezing hard. "But I don't have to hide here. I don't have to hide in the dark."
"No, you don't." I bring our hands up to my lips and kiss his knuckles softly. I can feel the answer on the back of my neck.
"Come to the Talon tomorrow." He pushes me onto my back, letting me see his eyes, letting me kiss him properly. "I want to hold your hand," he says, propping his chin on our clasped hands on my chest.
"I don't want this to be something that only happens in the dark."