title: playing house
author: jessica
mail: thegirlinglasses@illuminatedtext.com
date: january 24, 2003
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He knew this wouldn't work.
There are shoes in the doorway, socks stuffed inside. The fridge is open, shining a light into the dark kitchen for Lex to follow. Through the living room, his office, hallway, he only has to listen for the muted beat of Bowie to find Clark camped out on their bed.
Laid out on his stomach, head wrapped up in headphones and bouncing to the beat, Clark is distracted and waits until Lex is standing over the books and blocking the light.
"Lex." He pulls the headphones down to his neck and smiles up as the music fills the room.
"Are the kids still listening to him?" Lex asks, gesturing to the voice surrounding them.
"The kids listen to what they want, Lex. That's why they call them kids."
Clark looks up, beckoning him down for a kiss. Clark's lips taste like chocolate syrup. Lex pushes his tongue deeper, but doesn't taste any ice cream to go with it. He imagines Clark in the kitchen, barefoot, squeezing the chocolate straight into his mouth and licking at his lips.
"What did you have for lunch, Clark?"
"Chocolate syrup."
Because it's the truth, and Clark is still getting used to what is allowed to stay secret. He puts the headphones back on, pushing just one off his ear when he catches Lex's look.
"Isn't that what college is about, Lex?"
Clark falls back into the beat like he never left. Lex picks up a flannel shirt off the floor and carries it to the laundry hamper that Clark often forgets for a pile behind the door.
This will work, Lex tells himself, stepping into the bathroom.
It's only been a month. It wasn't much of a home, for either of them, when they moved in August. Too long spent in the castle with the servants, the casual transition to living together was anything but. Clark was in college, in the city, and in the papers, as Lex Luthor's boyfriend. The penthouse was supposed to be a refuge - a home - and Clark couldn't bring himself to unpack his bags.
It seems he's made himself at home now. Lex finds the toothpaste still on the counter from this morning. Clark squeezes from the middle, he notes, and wonders how he missed this before. He squeezes the tube back to normal, tells himself not to say anything. It's only one more step to getting after your partner for leaving the toilet seat up. Clark would argue they're both men, but Lex's neat freak would win out.
He walks back into the bathroom and out, turning the music off as he goes.
"I'm cooking," he says, when Clark looks up. "You want to help?"
Clark watches Lex waiting in the doorway.
"Yeah, just let me finish this?"
"You mean you're not done yet?" Lex moves forward and brushes the books aside. Clark rolls himself off the bed with a slacker's smile and pulls Lex close for a kiss.
"So, dinner? Ice cream and chocolate syrup?"
"Blowing off your homework is fine, Clark." Lex walks away and into the kitchen, where he starts pulling vegetables out of the fridge. "But your mother would kill me if she knew I let you eat ice cream for dinner."
They move around the kitchen, bumping hips at the counter. Clark bumps again on purpose as Lex hands him a peeler and steers him towards a bag of potatoes on the counter. Lex finds a knife for himself and chops the mushrooms.
There's a burst of sound and energy that Lex is only starting to get used to, and Clark is at his back, kissing his neck and moving his hips up against him.
"I'm done," Clark says.
Lex's eyes slide closed when Clark reaches around, playing at his zipper and pulling it down, slowly.
"Not with the knife in my hand, Clark."
"C'mon, I didn't blow off my homework to do chores. I can do this faster," He's talking about the hand on the knife, not the one in Lex's pants. "We'll have more time for the fun stuff."
Clark's hand is getting insistent. Inside and under, and Lex has to drop the knife. He's pressed forward and bent over the counter.
"Clark, stop." He doesn't. "Another night in bed, naked, eating take out?"
"Yeah, you really hate that, don't you?" Clark grins.
Lex is turned around and pushed up against the counter, mushrooms forgotten, and Clark on his lips.
"Is that what this is about? You want to play house, Lex?" Clark licks his lips and teases just a breath away. "You want to peel potatoes, and smoke a pipe, and schedule sex for three times a week?"
Lex shoves him away. Caught off guard, Clark stumbles backwards, his hands falling to his side.
"I want you to let me chop these mushrooms and find the steaks in the freezer."
"Yeah." Clark nods, not sure what else to say. "Okay."
They eat in the dining room at the table. Clark asks if he should light some candles, but Lex doesn't laugh. Clark doesn't say anything more.
His mother never stayed in this penthouse, but if Lex closes his eyes, he's back home, just in time for dinner. His father sat at the head of the table, his mother at the other end and Lex between the two. His father placed the chair in the middle, but Lex always nudged himself closer to his mother when Lionel wasn't looking.
Lex opens his eyes and finds Clark watching him.
"Hmm?"
"I said, this is really good steak." Clark holds up his fork with a smile.
"Oh."
Conversation isn't coming easily. Lex thinks they're too far apart, but he chose his seat. He chose his side of the bed, the closet, and the bathroom. It's how Lex has always worked. Somehow, it's not working with Clark.
Across the table, Clark has finished his steak and is pushing the peas around the plate. He lets out a sigh. His head's propped up on an elbow, a bored look on his face.
Lex drops his knife. "Just finish your vegetables, Clark." He know they're the wrong words as soon as they're out of his mouth. He's not even sure where they came from.
Clark just stares, his mouth fallen open. Lex scares himself with the urge to tell Clark not to let the flies in. He decides not to say anything, though, he should probably say sorry. Clark pushes away from the table.
"How about I crash at Pete's tonight?" Lex moves to get up, but Clark's hand is on his shoulder, holding him in place. "You should probably let me go, Lex."
He pushes his food away and rests his forehead on the table, not cool like he wanted, but warmed from the plate. Behind him, Clark's steps disappear into the bedroom, the sounds of drawers and closets follow. Clark told him to stay. Lex knows what Clark can do when angry, but goes to the bedroom anyway.
"I mean, I don't need steak every night." Clark says, like Lex has walked into the middle of a conversation. "Pete's getting pretty good on that hotplate."
With a handful of white boxers, Clark looks over his shoulder at Lex. He knew Lex was there at the door, but he's still checking. Clark continues when Lex says nothing.
"I'm saying, maybe I move in with Pete next semester."
"I'm saying, maybe I agree."
Clark throws the boxers on the bag on the bed, stuffing them in as he walks past and into the bathroom. He comes out with a toothbrush, comb, razor, and shampoo. Lex wonders if he'll even miss the Clark things when they're gone. He stays at the doorway, watches Clark grab a pair of sneakers from under the bed and a book from his sidetable. The room is quiet and the zipper when Clark closes the bag is deafening.
"So, that's it?" Clark sits on the bed with a muffled thump.
"That's not it. But maybe for a while?"
Clark nods, and lets his head hang down, like he doesn't have the strength. Lex takes the spot next to him. He doesn't wait for Clark, just takes a hand in his own.
"I don't think this is what I wanted," Lex explains with hesitant words. "I think I need it to be real."
"We can't be real and eat take-out in bed?" Clark pulls his hand out of Lex's grip and wraps both arms around him. "We're kids or we're married?" he whispers against Lex's shirt. "I'm only eighteen, Lex."
"But I'm twenty-four."
"We didn't seem that far away in Smallville, did we?"
It's Lex's turn to pull away. It's harder with Clark's arms around him and Lex is sure it has nothing to do with strength.
"We were."
"No, we weren't." Clark reaches out, but loses his grip as Lex crosses the room with a quick stride. "They're just numbers."
"The numbers, I trust, Clark."
"Well, your numbers are wrong, Lex." Clark is up off the bed, stalking Lex, trapping him against the door. "In ten years, I'll be thirty and you'll be thirty-six and no one will be able to see the difference and no one will care."
"And when you're eighty and I'm eighty-six?" Lex takes the hands from his chest and holds them tight. Watching their hands is easier than watching each other. "With wrinkles and glasses and probably a cane." Clark breathes a laugh. He looks up with Lex's fingers on his face. "You'll look just the same."
"That's why you get to treat me like a kid?"
"Clark..."
"I know." Clark sniffs and turns away to grab his bag from the bed. "I still have to go."
Lex nods. "I know."
He steps away, opening the door. Clark leans forward. His mouth opens to say something. Lex catches his eyes at the last minute, and Clark kisses his cheek instead. Lex misses him before he hears the door close.