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Title: Everybody Wants
Spoilers: Hourglass, Zero, Jitters
Stat: 856 words; 4831 characters.
Summary: "Cuz everybody wants and everybody needs / Everybody begs for self-esteem. / Why don't you get your mind out of the past? / And everybody takes and everybody steals / Everybody's been kicked by other heels…"
Note: I hate PMS. *breaks everything in site* I feel better now.
Lex gritted his teeth as he swung upside-down in midair. The rush of blood was bringing back unpleasant memories of the last time a certifiable sociopath attempted to extract justice from the Luthor heir. He couldn't remember if that had happened before or after the Desiree debacle, but decided that he could excuse himself for his anachronism, since the pooling of blood in his head wasn't helping his thinking process at all. In fact, his eyes were starting to see things with a slightly red tinge. From experience, Lex realized that the blood vessels in his eyes were rupturing from the excess volume of blood, but as panic slowly set in, his desultory logic backed out and gave way to hysteria.
"Well, well, what do we have here? Long time no see Lex." A familiar voice rumbled above him. Or was that below? Lex's current suspension was hell on his sense of direction.
"Who are you and what do you want?" Lex demanded with as much decorum as he could manage under the circumstances. It'll be a cold day in hell before a Luthor bows in deference to a threat.
"Don't remember me? It's okay." An upside-down maniacal smile settled in front of Lex's face. Idly, Lex wondered if his current position made that a maniacal frown, reassuring him that his hysteria is making itself quite at home. "I don't suppose you remember the little people."
"I've met thousands of people," Lex answered thickly. "I'll need a photographic memory to remember every face."
"Yes, that is the problem isn't it? No one is as important as a Luthor. Everyone else is just a fixture, a thing. Used then thrown away." The face moved away from Lex's visual range, but the sneer in the voice was unmistakable. "So tell me, how many would mourn the Luthor scion's death, hm? Who would read a dirge when they find your brains splattered on the buttress of a warehouse in some kind of Roche ink stain?"
Lex blinked and tried to clear the fog from his mind. "Don't you mean 'Rorschach Inkblot'?" His tone was just this side of patronizing. "I see not only are you missing a few synapses in your medulla oblongata, but you've stinted on your education too." Perhaps he shouldn't antagonize his captor, but his hysteria was slowly giving way to righteous anger and he'll be damned if he suffer the indignation without getting a few jabs in himself.
The dull thud of the punch and the consequent violent swinging averred to his previous hypothesis. Lex closed his eyes and willed the nausea to subside and tried to think how he's going to get out of his predicament alive. Ever since he's moved to Smallville, he's been beaten, threatened, blackmailed, and almost blown to pieces by a methane buildup in his plant by people who had a grudge against Lionel Luthor. He had managed to survive by a hair's breadth through the Lex-abuse that seems to be endemic to the cow town. Naturally, his father just had to chose this place as his locale of exile. Sometimes it just sucked to be Lionel Luthor's son.
A gun was in his face now.
"You think you're so smart huh?" Just beyond the barrel of the gun, Lex could make out a fuzzy outline of his captor's face. "Well, let's see how smart you are when you get that expensive brain blown out of you. And know what? No one's going to care."
Lex closed his eyes against the dizzying blur of colors. His captor was right. Only one person had seemed slightly solicitous of his health and that had only been because of a half-dead soothsayer. He began to wallow in self-pity, not caring anymore what became of him. Lex was so deep into his own mind that he wasn't aware of the sudden rush of air, or the sickening, bone-crunching snap, or even the shrill shriek of pain coming from his captor. However, the familiar voice dragged him from the depth of his maudlin musings.
"Lex? Lex! Wake up."
Begrudgingly Lex peeled his eyes open and stared into the familiar green of Clark's eyes, slowly realizing that he was in a horizontal position instead of vertical. Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, he broke down into hysterical laughter followed closely by abstemious tears.
"Lex?! What's wrong? Talk to me. Lex? Lex!" Worried eyes traveled over his body, checking for broken bones and bruises, confusion mingled in its midst.
"I'm okay." Lex gasped, attempting to keep the rising hysteria in abeyance. "Really, Clark. Just get me the hell out of here."
Nodding, Clark gently picked Lex up, cradling the still bound body to his own and tucked the bald head under his chin. Lex chuffed a soft puff air against the warm skin, not minding being manhandled after the ordeal. He'll have time enough to ask how Clark had saved him, again, from the hands of another victim turned murderer. For now, he was content on just concentrating on being alive. In a voice filled with sardonic humor, self-deprecation, and genuine awe, he whispered, "My hero."
Stat: 253 words; 1624 characters.
Summary: FutureFic. Meeting between enemies. Again.
Note: In comics, Lex never does the dirty work (or so I'm told so if I'm wrong about DC canon go shout at my source, who I'm not revealing, because s/he might kill me for mangling "the truth" so buckle up and take it like a man…as I was saying…). In Smallville, Lex shoots Nixon to save the Kents. He didn't even do that for his fiancé! It's got to be love. Long live CLex the OTP.
Cape fluttering, Superman gently set the multi-billionaire dressed in impeccable Armani onto the top of a building safely out of range from the scorching heat emanating from the bomb that was built by said multi-billionaire. Condemnatory blue clashed with desiccate slate as Superman glared at his once best friend and current mortal enemy.
"Are you going to tell me what that was about, Luthor? Or am I going to just get another tortuous answer?" Superman demanded through forced calm. Stolid by nature, he couldn't seem to help becoming irascible when faced with this infuriating bald man, who once offered dating advice and now offered glowing green suicide. Superman may endeavor to avoid Lex Luthor's attempts to enervate him with Kryptonite, but Clark Kent was undeniably drawn to the truculence. A glutton for punishment, Superman berated Clark.
"Save your garrulous speech for those who can't exculpate themselves, Superman. What specious proof of my involvement you may think you possess wouldn't hold up in court," Lex sneered at the hero, his facial muscles contorting his features into something unrecognizable. "Or do you propitiate that guilty conscience of yours when you disparage those you deem morally inferior?"
"You've killed thousands," Superman bit out each laconic word through clenched teeth. "How do you live with yourself?"
"No, I'm responsible for thousands, millions of deaths. I've only killed one," Lex corrected with aplomb. Suddenly, the mask of indifference cracked slightly, the cool gray brightened to impassioned silver, belying the disinterested voice that whispered, "I killed to save you."
Title: The Sexy and Pool
Stat: 367 words; 2163 characters.
Summary: Established relationship. Clark and Lex bicker. Clark and Lex make up.
Note: Ferraris are great and all, but what won't I pay to see Lex in a Lamborghini Murciélago. *drools*
Lex stared at Clark's reproachful glare, unaware what he had done to earn the austere look. Stepping out of his newly acquired Enzo Ferrari, Lex quirked a brow in askance to which of his prodigal behaviors had incurred the abstemious Wrath of Clark.
"I thought we agreed you're going to drive slower," Clark began before Lex had a chance to lock up.
Holding up his hand, Lex occluded the rest of Clark's tortuous reprimand. "Please, Clark, you averred that I would drive slower. I never concurred, nor would I ever concur, to such an outrageous demand. Besides, Ferraris aren't meant to follow speed limits. I'd rather be repudiated by my father than watch a car of the Enzo's caliber be forced into staying within double digits."
Clark snorted at Lex's obdurate refusal. "As if being disowned by your father won't be a dream come true."
"I won't attempt to dissemble." Lex raised his hands in the universal I-surrender position. "I must concede that relieving myself from my father's influence would be a welcomed respite. However, removal from the Luthor name also means that my finances will unfortunately fall on a never before encountered paucity and that translates to no more rides in new cars that have The Sexy."
"You know, Lex," Clark continued as he followed the older man into the cold castle hallways. "Most of us stay friends regardless if said friends own cars that have 'The Sexy'."
"Of course," Lex dismissed offhandedly, leading the way into his office where a game of pool was perpetually awaiting the arrival of one Clark Kent. "However, having an ostentatious rich playboy as your friend-slash-mentor has its perks. Case in point," Lex paused and grabbed a cue.
Gesturing with the cue's length, he pointed at the neatly racked balls lying patiently on the purple felt. "C'mon farmboy. Think you're up for a game? Same stakes."
"Winner gets a blow-job? I'm always up for that." Clark winked as Lex's stolid features faded into an amused smile.
"Don't be so prodigal with your talents, Clark." Lex tapped his lips in emphasis, eyes turning predatory. "You, my friend, are. Going. Down."
"In more ways than one," Clark agreed, the game already forgotten.
Title: Sonnet 18
Stat: 500 words; 2950 characters.
Summary: Shakespeare, Clark, and Lex, you do the math.
Note: I think I have a thing for classic poetry. Is it any wonder that I'm quoting friggin' sonnets for CLex? Sadly, not even Shakespeare could equal even a fraction of Smallville's HoYay.
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
The desultory question pulled Lex's attention reluctantly away from the unruly curls. However, the ingenuous attempt to dissuade further physical explorations made him aware of the lush, full lips reciting the classic conundrum instead. Reverently, an ivory thumb traced the cushion of cherry flesh and he murmured, "Because Poe wrote on both."
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
Title: Press Conference
Stat: 412 words; 2545 characters.
Summary: Lex addresses the Topeka incident.
Note: Dedicated to Locke, because he asked so nicely. Also, I know I mangled the entire comics canon, shush. This is a Smallville fic, so be quite about the comics already.
The Press Room burst into an officious cacophony as the wave of reporters weltered in their fatuous attempt to denigrate the newest President of the United State. Like vultures, the reporters hovered eagerly over their recorders, throwing out barbed questions in hopes of seeing the usually stolid mask slip from the man who now stand before them.
Lex graced the hounds with a disingenuous smile, keeping his equanimity amongst the barely veiled reprobation. A roomful of inchoate fledglings in the game of dissembling, these measly muckrakers think they could possibly out wit him. The very preposterous notion almost sent Lex into a fit of giggles. He had not been playing this game since birth to be out-maneuvered by a handful of hypocritical hypesthesics. Comparing to the shark tank that had became his natural habitat under Lionel's tutelage, these perfunctory public addresses were merely an annoying mosquito bite. An itch obstructed some of his greater plans and refused to take leave no matter what he tries, but nonetheless harmless in the long run.
"Mr. President! According to private sources, your handling of the Topeka incident leaves the issue of morality in wanting. How do you respond to the criticism that you've purposefully allowed the citizens to live in penury and failed to provide them with the necessary protection that you could have easily arranged?"
With a grandiose cursory sweep of his eyes, Lex quickly dismissed the obvious rookie. Showing one's hand at such an early stage placed oneself in a tenuous position, revealing all the strengths and consequentially the weaknesses, leaving oneself open to attack where one is most vulnerable. A hard learned lesson from Lionel, it had served Lex well in his empleomania, allowing him to deal with such soporific attempts to challenge him with ease.
"My response, you may print in tomorrow's paper, is that when faced with ideophobic conservatives who fail to recognize that there exist plans that surpasses the needs of the individuals, traditional methods of dealing with catastrophe is not only jeopardizing the nation's interests, but extremely inefficient. I came into the Oval Office to lead a nation to greatness, not to win the public's approbation."
The tortuous response finished, Lex turned to the plethora of anonymous journalists, each one eager to castigate him, yet none could qualify as a felicitous adversary. Perhaps that is why he kept Superman around. He couldn't save the world or himself from what he had become, but maybe Superman could save both.
Stat: 329 words; 1822 characters.
Summary: Lex swims in guilt after events in Crush.
Note: Sleep is good. Awake is bad. Writing is worse.
Lex stood alone in front of the fresh grave. Miles away, in the Smallville cemetery, the entire population of Smallville no doubt has already congregated to give a loquacious eulogy lauding the many virtues of Mr. Fordman. But no one would be here to mourn the passing of a woman who had lived her life in fear for the sake of a boy who was not her own. No one would mourn those who bore the stigma of a Luthor, just as none had mourned his mother.
Head bowed, Lex allowed the guilt to wash over him, making him tractable as he had not been when Pamela had first approached him looking for forgiveness. He remembered the laconic words he had delivered when he first saw her, thinking she was the perfidious liar that his father had painted. He had allowed his father's bombastic lies to once again attenuate his better judgment. Like a fool he had believed, that his beloved nanny, whom he looked upon as a second mother, had been nothing more than a malingerer making false promises to gain his mother's precious stock bonds.
Disgusted with his plasticity in his father's hands, Lex quickly turned from the headstone that rested quietly next to his mother's plaque. He could only hope that the only two women whom he had loved would be able to forgive him for his aberration. It was not Pamela who had needed to seek forgiveness, but Lex himself. As he retreated from the memorial, Lex made a hasty compendium of all his past offenses and summarized that his past transgressions was beyond exculpation. He was thankful that they had not been witness to those moments of his life, knowing well that he would not be able to look into the disappointed eyes.
Slipping into his car, he willed his heart recondite and swiped fiercely at the tears that threatened to fall, the pain of loss burning acidic in the back of his throat.
Title: A Talk by the Firelight
Stat: 98 words; 624 characters.
Summary: Lex lectures Clark on his ambivalence towards pursuing the object of his affections. Only, Lex doesn't realize that he is the object of Clark's affections.
Note: Lab is hell. Lab eats your soul. Lab takes your itty bitty heart and breaks it into a million pieces when you realize your miniprep isn't working or that all your enzymes have denatured and you can't get the right digestion for your vectors. Lab is worse than hell when you know you willingly put all that time into it and served up your soul on a silver platter. And it's getting pretty pathetic when your headers for the fic has more words than the fic itself…
Clark watched entranced as Lex manipulated the colored marbles between nimble fingers. The disparate play of firelight over skin and glass distracted him from the assiduous effort to delineate different ways to ameliorate his rather pathetic love life.
"If you don't pursue Lana with alacrity when opportunity rises to avoid effrontery towards your parents or because your small town morals deem it an opprobrium, then your probity is going to doom you to an eternal ascetic life," Lex lectured with veracious concern.
Clark listened with fraudulent deference, hiding his jealousy for the round bibelot behind a vacuous stare.
Stat: 302 words; 1794 characters.
Summary: Clark talks about something. Lex thinks he's talking about something else.
Note: I hate electrophoresis. That is all.
"I hate to break this to you, Lex, but I'm afraid your strut is going to need a lot of work."
Startled at the desultory disparage, Lex paused awkwardly in mid-stride, wondering what he has done to provoke the artless criticism. Holding his falling foot in abeyance, Lex did a perfect parody of a flamingo at rest.
"What exactly is wrong with my strut that it needs work on?" Lex queried, still balanced on one foot, unsure how to proceed with his usual erudite sophistication called into question.
Clark shrugged dispassionately, attempting to prevaricate for reasons that eluded and perplexed Lex to no end. Unable to endure the capricious behavior for much longer, Lex followed through with his temporarily aborted step and sank into the leather couch with his usual grace. Settling his limbs in a comfortable position, he continued to prod Clark with his intractable questioning.
"Clark, I was hoping that after all this time you'd see me as a friend. If you have salubrious advice to impart on me, I'm not going to be refractory towards your efforts. On the contrary, I'll be more than happy to appropriate my time to learning just exactly what is wrong with my 'strut', as you so eloquently put it. Now are you going to stop your transparent efforts at dissembling and tell me what seems to be the problem?"
Hearing Lex's grandiloquent pronouncement of his intent at self-improvement, Clark couldn't help rolling his eyes in a gesture that belied his guileless façade. Only Lex would be so obstinately concerned with his public image.
"Geez, Lex, calm down. You're perfect, no need for improvement." Then smiling, Clark gestured towards the half finished miniature of LexCorp's office building that was still sprawled across Lex's coffee table from the morning. "I was talking about the model."
Title: Untitled #1
Stat: 235 words; 1460 characters.
Summary: Lionel and Lex talk, argue, and reach an impasse. What's new?
Note: Brain dead. Can't think of funny title. This will be number one in a long slew of untitled fics because damn I'm just that tired. *dies*
"Would you care to apprise me of what exigency led to this impromptu disruption of a meeting with my board members?" Lex's laconic inquiry greeted Lionel's appearance in the recently emptied office.
"I come bearing felicitous news," Lionel replied, his eyes gleamed with reprobate intent. "A connoisseur of the mortician art has expressed an interest in recruiting you into their esoteric community of intellectual elites."
"Hm, yes," Lex murmured ostentatiously, making a production of drawing out his next statement. "This sudden interest in persuading me to join the Cult of Death has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that their little 'group' is willing to raise over half the funds necessary for the next buy out, which is in four days. Really, dad, you underestimated my cogent reasoning abilities."
"Preposterous," Lionel blatantly denied. "I would never allow business to come before family."
"Oh, give it up," Lex exasperated, allowing his erudite mask to fall slightly before slamming it back firmly in place. "I know you and your iconoclastic ways. Everything is business with Luthors, even our elegy is made of stock reports."
Lionel stared dispassionately at his son's flippant retort. When the noise died down, he asked the question again, "Are you or are you not going to let this opportunity pass?"
"I'll pass," Lex drawled. Then, before his father could continue, he pressed the call button. "Meeting adjourned. Charity, my next call please."
Title: Of Cars and Man
Spoilers: Any episode that has Lex in a sports car…pretty much all of them.
Stat: 431 words; 2624 characters.
Summary: Lex lusts after Cl…I mean, cars.
Note: No, I'm not suffering a midlife crisis that involves lusting after pretty, pretty cars. Or pretty other things. But damn those sports cars all but drips "Da Sexy". Guh.
"It's a car, Lex." Clark stared in shock and awe at the artless look of unadulterated lust plastered on the bald billionaire's face. The mendacious mask of dispassionate stoicism faltered in favor of child-like excitement that now graced Lex's face.
"I know it's a car," Lex responded with his vituperative voice, one that was saved for unbearably slow children and his father. In this case, however, Lex was willing to make an exception and included Clark amongst the esoteric members on the list. "But it's not just any car. This is a fucking Ferrari." And yes, Lex just swore, but the welter of emotions this sexy piece of machinery had brought about is something transcending mere human existence and falls disastrously close to a religious experience. If Lex weren't quite so overwhelmed by the sheer beauty being exuded by this absolutely gorgeous instrument of modern technology, then perhaps he would have been able to express his feelings in a more acceptable manner concerning the audience involved. As is, he was only capable of gaping open-mouthed while salivating in a Pavlovian response to the aerodynamic body.
"Yes, Lex, it's a Ferrari. Which you already have, remember? The red one that you lent me?" Clark rolled his eyes in exasperation. Though it was rare to see Lex enjoy such a moment of unfettered happiness and the Ferrari 575M Maranello with its power output of 515 CV at 7250 rpm accelerating from zero to sixty-two in four-point-two seconds was one very sweet ride indeed, Clark hardly thought Lex's ingenuous gaiety was in such a state of indigence, that his eyes were required to brighten like Christmas lights at the sight of a high-performance car.
"A Berlinetta," Lex responded absently, his eyes still glued inexplicably to the leather wrapped V12 engine, his perspicacious mind already spinning out scenario after scenario concerning him getting to know the chic vehicle intimately with great alacrity. "The Berlinetta's great, a cute little car, something bought during my iconoclastic youth. But this…" This was a Maranello with a leather interior that's begging to be caressed, petted, and fondled by a pair of hands enclosed in butter-soft deerskin driving gloves. "Excuse me, Clark. I need to find those craven sales representatives and make a purchase."
Clark stood stupidly next to the temporarily abandoned model, knowing better than to gainsay Lex's precipitate decision. When Lex is on a hunt, nothing varying from honest persuasion to prevaricating chicanery is going to him from his goal. Nothing that is, Clark observed as Lex stumbled to a sudden halt, other than a McLaren F1 GT.
Title: Untitled #2
Stat: 96 words; 611 characters.
Summary: Lex gets pissy at his workers for doing an incompetent job (read: refused to follow his inhuman and unreasonable orders). Being the rich brat that he is, Lex decides to chew out said worker only to end up besmirching his already tarnished name. Clark, the ever-present boy-scout/best friend/Jiminy Cricket, decides to take it upon himself to help Lex clear his name. What better way to show your affection for the people than reaching for your plebian roots? And nothing can humanize an icon better than seeing said icon eating away at a drippy ice cream cone.
Note: *giggles madly* My summary and fic have the same number of words. What a happy coincidence. I'm getting good at making these things short. Bwaaaaaaaahahhahahah. It's 3 am and I'm still not sleepy. Tani, remind me not to buy coffeecoffeebuzzbuzzbuzz on a night that I'm planning to sleep. I can still feel the sugar high humming through my veins. And the caffeine buzz? Making my head hurt oh so much…but keeping me oh so awake. Why do I do this to myself?
Lex occluded a recondite smile behind an ice cream cone that was more properly commensurate of a Clark-sized appetite than his own. He knew he should have proscribed from using invective vocabulary in his castigation of a recalcitrant worker, seeing as such behavior was not endemic to this antediluvian cow town. However, Clark intransigence insistence to exculpate his name from the afternoon's debacle resulted in his current indignant parade through the local ice cream parlor. Seeking revenge, Lex daintily licked a long stripe lengthwise along the cold dessert and smiled in satisfaction at the airy gasp.