Work Text:
Clark wakes with Lex’s alarm in the dark at six-thirty. With waking comes a brief moment of fuzziness before awareness washes over him. He suspects that early morning grogginess is nothing for him compared to what a human experiences, has seen enough evidence for himself, but this morning it seems to vanish even faster, leaving him ready to take on the day.
When it comes to weekdays like today, Lex does his best to prove that he experiences no such thing as fatigue. There is no fighting with the alarm clock, no letting it ring out for more than three chirps, no hitting the snooze button. Clark hears his heartbeat quicken, his breath catch, and then his long, elegant arm reaches out to turn it off. A single deep breath and he is sitting upright, ready to get moving.
Clark sits up with him, shifting closer to come up behind him and hook his chin over Lex’s shoulder, bury his face in his neck. Lex squirms a little which only makes Clark grin. “Good morning,” he says.
“Morning,” murmurs Lex. Clark can practically hear the operating software of Lex’s brain coming online, even like this his mind is beyond the metaphor of spinning gears. Inside his head, he is laying out his agenda for the day, setting a course of action. Starting, first and foremost, with a run in Century Park.
Tilting his head a little to kiss the bare skin of Lex’s neck, Clark asks, “can I come with you this morning?”
Joining Lex on his morning runs isn’t a request Clark makes often. He doesn’t exactly have the same requirements for physical exertion that a human does. On top of that, Clark sometimes gets the sense that Lex is self-conscious around him when it comes to what his body is capable of, no matter how much he insists that isn’t the case. Clark could lap the planet in the time it takes Lex to run a mile and that says absolutely nothing about the shape that Lex is in.
But Clark likes spending time with him. He likes getting to see that side of Lex, flushed with activity and high on endorphins. It reminds him of when Lex moved in at the farm for a few days and pitched in to help muck out the stables. He looks younger, some of the usual stress fallen away from the surface, his energy for the moment directed towards just one goal.
It takes a few seconds for Lex to answer. He lets his head fall back onto Clark’s shoulder and sighs. “Alright,” he allows. “Let me tell Mercy.”
Their route begins at the front doors and heads down the street and into the park. There is a chill in the air, a bit of fog as the sun starts to warm cool earth. Their breath comes out in little clouds as they pick up the pace.
Running like this doesn’t do the same things for Clark that it does for Lex. A few miles at this pace isn’t enough to get him tired. He doesn’t get the runner’s high of endorphins at the end. And it doesn’t do anything to affect his strength or endurance. But there is a kind of mental workout that comes with running at a human’s pace, paying careful attention to his breathing, making deadly sure that he doesn’t affect Lex’s pace—who will let him know loud and clear if his presence is bothering him, a directness Clark appreciates.
Lex is quiet this early in the morning, meditative. Around the second mile, he might start to open up but there is no imperative to do anything more than simply exist side by side. Like when Clark was younger, working in the fields with his dad and some of the hired farmhands, the early hours, the quiet labor of it.
At this pace, Clark gets to notice small things. The city starting to wake up. The first commuters already on the road. The other joggers in the park. He gets to see the first rays of dawn glint off of the glass and steel of the skyscrapers, watch as the cool blue stone and concrete of the sidewalks and streets takes on a warmer hue.
He can close his eyes and feel the sun on his face, listen to the city waking up around him. Birds and squirrels in the park more lively than they have been in weeks, thanks to a longer, colder, darker than normal winter. If he listens closely enough, it’s like he can hear the grass growing again, the first shoots of daffodils and crocuses breaking ground to brave the still-cool air. The last of their most recent snowfall only melted a few days ago but the plants must know something the rest of them don’t because their presence insists spring is here.
“Clark.”
Blinking his eyes open, Clark looks around at the sound of Lex’s voice and Lex is—oh, Lex isn’t here.
That isn’t fair to say actually. It isn’t that Lex isn’t here, it’s that here for Clark, is about a mile outside of the city, the first stretch of open field on the interstate going north. Clark heard his name in Lex’s voice as though he is still right beside him because Clark always hears Lex when he calls for him but otherwise, his mind and body are entirely elsewhere.
He is back at Lex’s side in an instant. Lex slows to a halt in a few steps before turning to look at him, breathing hard. Whatever he sees on Clark’s face, whatever he was thinking when he realized Clark was gone, makes him shake his head. He steps in close and reaches a hand up to Clark’s face before kissing him, a brief, sweet thing that has Clark licking his lips to taste salt afterward.
Lex presses two fingers to his own neck to take his pulse. “Go on,” he says. “I’ll meet you back at the penthouse.” Then he takes off.
Clark supposes that’s fair enough.
It will take Lex about twenty minutes to finish his run so Clark has some time to kill. He stops at a bakery near his apartment for coffee and croissants, about the only thing Lex will eat for breakfast on the days that he bothers to have some, which is more often than not when Clark stays over. He grabs a change of clothes for work from his apartment along with his laptop in a leather satchel.
Just as he is about to return to the penthouse, Clark overhears a call for help. A girl a few blocks away from his apartment. He gives his leather bag a look, knowing his suit is inside. A quick rescue before heading back to Lex probably won’t hurt, right?
With the suit on, Clark can fly without being worried that someone might see. In fact, being seen is kind of the goal. People feel safe knowing that he’s around, they see him and know that someone is on their side. That’s more than Smallville’s Clark Kent, shy high-school dork, petrified of anyone finding out his secret had ever thought to hope for so even something as simple as this, as Clark floats down onto the tree-lined street of brownstones three blocks over, feels something like a miracle even after years of being Superman.
He spots the problem instantly and oh, is Lex going to laugh at him later if he finds out about this. A cat. Stuck up in a tree. And a girl with her hair in two braids and a school uniform on looking up at it. There is an even tie between her and the cat for the saddest eyes Clark has ever seen.
The girl gasps, “Superman!” even as Clark extends his hands and carefully secures the cat in his arms. The cat’s claws and now venomous expression don’t pose any real danger to him but he doesn’t want to upset it any more than moving it already will.
He is a little nervous about depositing the cat directly into the girl’s arms for exactly that reason but she reaches out and grabs it before he can think about putting it anywhere else.
“Francis! Thank you so much, Superman. I left the window open and he climbed out when I wasn’t looking and then I couldn’t get him down and I was going to be late to school—“ she says in a long rush before stopping for air. “Anyway, thanks!” She finishes with a smile that shows off a crooked tooth or two.
“Glad I could help. Be sure to close that window!”
He lands on the penthouse terrace a few minutes later, now dressed in his civilian clothes but moving too fast to be caught by stray cameras. Clark thinks about going inside to set the coffee and pastries down and wait in the kitchen for Lex to finish showering in the bathroom but the sun has risen even higher, firmly morning by now, and the day promises to be too lovely to spend inside.
So he stands at the edge of the terrace looking out over the city with his forearms on the railing and lets his eyes drift shut. Lex’s building isn’t the tallest in Metropolis but it’s a near thing and there is nothing close by to cast a shadow over them. Clark can get this view and others even better any time he wants but with solid stone and steel beneath his feet, it feels more fixed than flight.
All of Metropolis spills out around him; if he leans over the rail far enough, he can see the tiny lines of traffic beneath his feet. This is Lex’s view, the way he sees their city. The Daily Planet globe glints gold in the sunlight. LexCorp Towers loom a block behind them. These days, when he and Lex talk about their wildest dreams, their big plans for what they could do, it happens out here under the open sky. At night, there are fewer stars above than you could see from the loft back in Smallville but maybe someday, they’ll find a way to fix that too.
Clark drinks the coffee in his hands while it’s still hot. Much like jogging, caffeine doesn’t have much of a physical effect on him. But Clark has grown to like the taste and the smell and while a hot drink can’t come close to burning him, it’s nice to feel it warming him from the inside, an excuse to drink it as scalding hot as he can get it.
Coffee and sunshine and the city he calls home. Today is going to be a good day. Clark can feel it.
When he opens his eyes again, Lex is taking up a spot next to him at the railing, a mug of coffee in hand, not the cardboard cup Clark picked up from the bakery. It must have gone cold while Lex was in the shower. He is almost fully dressed for the day, just missing his jacket, a few buttons yet to be done up on his shirt. The bare skin at his clavicle, the rest of him clean and lightly pink from the hot water; he looks so touchable. Clark can’t help but lean over to kiss him.
It’s early still and some of Lex’s feverish energy has been burned off by the run, so he accepts being folded into Clark’s arms as they look out over the city.
“We should do something today,” Clark says while Lex sips his coffee.
Lex hums. “We are doing something today. It’s called work.”
He’s right of course. It’s Wednesday. Clark is expected at the Daily Planet in about… fifteen minutes. But while Clark loves the work that he does, loves the stories he writes and the people he meets, helping people in a way that Superman can’t, that isn’t what he meant.
“What if we met up for lunch today?” suggests Clark.
Lex tilts his head to look at Clark better, assessing. There is still something tentative there, for all that they’ve grown more comfortable with each other over the last year or so. Neither of them is the best at making plans and keeping them, too beholden to their various responsibilities to drop everything all of the time but Clark can admit that he is a bit worse. He has his reasons for running off in the middle of a date or calling at the last minute to cancel and Lex knows that he does. But there is still something small and vulnerable in Lex that despises any hint of rejection, hates to leave himself open to it.
And yet, Clark knows better than anyone that Lex is a romantic at heart, the reason why he keeps it so firmly locked away. All these years later, he is still the young man willing to open the doors to his study to the farmboy down the road, eager to leap at a grand gesture.
“Just let me know where and when.”
Clark grins. “1:30? At the lookout in Century Park?”
Lex shakes his head but he’s grinning too. “A picnic? You’re adorable.” He presses a kiss to Clark’s cheek, then another that glances off the corner of Clark’s mouth. “I’ll get Hope to cancel my two o’clock.”
Clark makes it to the Daily Planet with two minutes to spare but Lois is already at her desk and typing away which makes him late in her book. She glances up at him and then back down at her screen before frowning and looking up at him again.
“Something’s different about you today, Smallville.”
She gives him a skeptical look from head to toe and Clark tries to look at himself to see what she might be seeing. Everything appears to be in order.
Lois can’t seem to pin point exactly what is off either and returns to her keyboard. “We’re due at the mayor’s office at ten and then Perry wants us to round up quotes for an article on the city counsel’s decision to cut library funding—you can handle that this afternoon while I do some follow up with Mayor Larson at his golf club, can’t you?”
Clark sighs wearily but grins. “Caddy or bartender?”
The smile Lois gives back to him has teeth. “Caddy. I figure if I can get him in a golf cart, I can at least get a few questions in before he tries to throw himself out of it.”
Clark might wish the mayor luck with that, if he thought the man stood any chance of outmaneuvering Lois. The truth is, Lois has a much better chance of getting him to stick to his campaign promise to better balance the inordinate amount of funds going towards policing with improvements public services. She has a way of marrying the cold hard facts with strong writing that goes for the reader’s guts every time. As with most things, Lois refuses to pull her punches.
That should leave Clark with plenty of time to work on a few stories he needs to catch up on, go on that interview, gather those quotes, and still have to room in his day to deal with disaster in case some emergency crops up that requires his help. He has stories to write and people to meet, a busy day that takes him out of the office and into the city, and a date with Lex that he will not be late for.
He makes some good headway on an article about upgrading the city’s electrical grid and on a new program to bring technical courses to local high schools. Then it’s time for their meeting with the mayor and Lois hustles him out of the revolving brass doors in record time.
They have their double act down pat at this point, a version on good cop/bad cop where Lois comes in hard and fast with blunt questions while Clark examines the room for anything resembling a hot tip. At the moment, they suspect the police commissioner has a heavy hand on the city’s purse strings but they need evidence before they can accuse anyone of anything more than failing to live up to the platform they ran on. Clark finds a meeting penciled in Mayor Larson’s planner that looks promising and makes a note of it for Lois later.
On his way back to the Planet, Clark gets a call from the Justice League as expected. Bart could use some help with Captain Cold about ten miles outside of Central City—his plans have taken on a slightly different direction than usual and Bart has a sore throat and a stuffy nose in addition to dodging arctic blasts from the more typical cold gun.
He sends off a quick text to Lex before he goes.
I hope you didn’t cancel your two o’clock?
He is in the air over Bart’s last coordinates when his phone buzzes against his hip.
I take it our picnic lunch just became a dinner
And I did have Hope cancel, so you owe me
Clark smiles despite himself and texts, I’ll owe you a very nice dinner in the park??
There is no part of him that really believes that Lex is going to let him get away with that but putting up at least a token fight is one of the games they play.
I was thinking more along the lines of the f1 race this weekend
Clark winces a little. Spending time with Lex has never been a hardship. Clark is more than game to do just about anything with him. But the cars… he starts to lose Clark a little there. He can appreciate a fancy looking car and he loves it when Lex gets excited and starts to lecture about something he’s passionate about. It’s just that Clark tended to zone out when his dad started talking about engines on the farm, fixing up the old tractor. Add multiple cylinders and power units and electronic control centers? Clark struggles to muster up the proper enthusiasm.
That and—
Where is the race this weekend?
The chances of it being in North America have to be slim to none. Lex wouldn’t need to barter if they were headed to Miami or Las Vegas. Clark could be there and back in an instant.
Barcelona. I’ll take you to the beach
See some architecture, walk the gothic quarter
Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.
It takes a lot to get Clark to take some time off. There is always so much to do and so many people that need his help and for the most part, what does it cost him to help if he can’t get hurt and he can do the job better than anyone else can? The people that don’t understand him and Lex together don’t understand that Lex is the same way. It’s about power and control and accepting that while you might be the smartest or most capable man in the room, sometimes you need to let others take the reins. If Lex is taking a weekend away too, they might actually enjoy themselves.
And we can get you something to wear before we leave
And there’s the real price to pay. Going shopping with Lex is a...complicated experience. It’s something he never knew before they started dating, not until Clark was older and living in Metropolis.
The pros: he gets to spend time with Lex, always a good thing. He gets Lex’s undivided attention for hours at a time, something Clark has always relished. He usually walks away in a set of clothes that Lois isn’t embarrassed to be seen with him in because Lex generally has good taste. And it makes Lex happy, getting to spoil Clark like that, having Clark let him.
But there are also some serious cons. As a rule, the salespeople tend to scare Clark and they don’t seem to like him all that much either. It’s like they can sense the farmboy dork he was in high school and consider it a communicable disease. Lex’s presence usually mitigates any outright rudeness but then they trip over themselves fawning over him which is almost worse. The more they do it, the better they get at weeding out people who might be able to help from hindrances but then that just leaves getting poked and prodded and ushered into uncomfortable clothes, making Clark long for his days of jeans and flannel.
Lex likes it though, which is often good enough reason to go along with just about anything in Clark’s book. So he sends off a quick text to agree before zipping down to catch up with Bart and Captain Cold.
The rest of the day flies by, between Cold and work and getting things ready for tonight. He is busy, absolutely, but it is an industrious sort of busy that makes him feel useful and productive and alive.
By the time he clocks out at five—because he promised Lex and he is not about to reschedule for a second time in one day—the sun is still high in the sky, the gold of sunset just barely gracing the mirrored surface of LexCorp Towers. Walking through the brass revolving doors of the Daily Planet and into daylight after a long winter makes him feel like there are endless possibilities and plenty of time left to explore them.
If Clark switches into x-ray vision, he can see Lex at his desk on the top floor, standing from his desk and shutting down his computer, which is perfect timing as expected. Lex would not miss the opportunity to be on time down to the second after Clark canceled on him. The thought of Lex’s pettiness makes Clark’s chest swell with fondness. That just means they will have plenty of time to watch the sunset from the ridge in the park.
Clark just has to get there first to set everything up. Blankets, picnic basket filled with grapes and cheese, sandwiches and wine, including the Kryptonian vintage Kara gave him as a gift a year back that does get Clark something close to tipsy. A perfect spot overlooking the sunset and the skyline but away from the rest of the couples and groups of friends doing the same thing.
With minutes to spare, Clark stands back to admire his handy work. The little bouquet of daffodils looks a bit paltry beside everything else but otherwise, it’s cozy. It’s sweet. And despite the homespun appearances or secretly because of it, Lex is going to love it. Like something they might have done in Smallville if things had been different.
Right on time, Lex appears below Clark’s dangling feet at the bottom of the cliff. He pauses for a moment to look up at him with a vaguely amused expression. It reads a bit like, really? but he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his overcoat and starts climbing the gradual incline off to the side that eases up to Clark’s lookout point.
Clark leans back on his hands and watches him as he approaches, admiring him just because he can, the way that his shoulders sit slightly more relaxed as he leaves some of the office behind him, as he makes his way closer to Clark. He is still dressed for winter in his dark wool coat, draped across his frame in a way that makes him look strong but elegant and slim. Underneath it, where the coat hangs open is a lavender shirt with a button undone at the top.
He stands to greet him when Lex gets close enough, letting Lex step into his space and kiss him lightly, sweetly. Though they have been with each other for a year now, there is still something thrilling about all of these small intimacies. How right it feels and the way that rightness manages to catch Clark off guard after years at each other’s throats. As though their fights were a way to remain close to each other, to mean something in each other’s lives no matter what, even if the shape of their relationship bent into hatred always felt unnatural.
Now Clark slides an arm around Lex’s waist beneath his coat as Lex brings his own up around his back. They fit together like puzzle pieces and how could they not have known this before? How good it could be?
Lex turns them a little and surveys the set up. He presses another kiss to Clark’s cheek, leaving him feeling warm there even as his lips leave. “You’re adorable.”
“You like it?” Clark asks, part of him still self-conscious.
He isn’t usually one for grand gestures or—that’s not quite true. Clark can do a grand gesture, what is harder for him, harder for both of them really are the smaller moments. Somewhere between knowing the way they take their coffee in the morning and life-changingly big purchases, curling up together on the couch in the evening and literally sweeping Lex off his feet, the middle ground gets lost sometimes.
Lex takes his hand and they take up places on the blankets, lounging half on top of each other. They break into the wine first before starting in on the rest. Lex nods appreciatively at the label on the bottle Clark picked out for him before popping the cork. He sets up glasses for them both and is about to pour when he notices the other bottle tucked in the picnic basket.
“Oh?” he says, examining the bottle of Kryptonian wine. “Is this a sign of a very good day or a very bad one?”
“A good one,” Clark says. He doesn’t drink often, doesn’t like the feeling of not being totally in control. But sometimes, under very particular circumstances, he can appreciate the looseness it gives him, like shedding some of the weight of his ever-present responsibility for a moment to simply sink deeper into where and when and who he is. He likes drinking with Lex on occasion, who knows perhaps better than anyone else in Clark’s orbit what it means to savor the feeling. To ride the line between buzzed and drunk so that every kiss, every touch feels like a hundred little golden sparks, lovely and languid and warm. “I thought it might be nice.”
“It will be.” Lex pours him a glass and once Clark has his in hand, clinks them together.
Clark opens cheese and crackers, pulls grapes and the sandwiches out of the basket. They sit back, half-reclined and graze on a bit of everything. Every once and a while, Lex will take a grape and press it to Clark’s lips and they will have to pause for a moment as the air grows heavy between them, Clark letting his mouth fall open just a little to catch Lex’s thumb as it leaves him or dart his tongue out to catch the taste of him on his lips.
The sun is still high enough in the sky to warm the rocks beneath them and the blanket they are lounging on, though the air is starting to grow cool. It isn’t really far enough into spring to simply sit out for hours, at least, it isn’t for people who aren’t Clark. He is lucky that Lex is game for this sort of thing, that he is more than willing to pull closer to Clark’s warmth and tangle their legs together or to wrap himself in that lush wool coat and drape the length of it over the two of them. With Mercy out there in the woods somewhere keeping a perimeter, they don’t have to worry about bystanders getting too close or snapping a picture.
“Someone had a busy day,” Lex says, once they have started in on their sandwiches, taking a moment’s space once the relief of finding themselves in each other’s presence again has worn off. “Impulse was lucky to have you. If Star Labs wants a consult on his illness, I’d be interested in taking a look.”
“He feels better already, it’s just that every time he sneezes he ends up three miles away. Makes it a bit difficult to fight crime.”
“That and he doesn’t trust me,” Lex says, matter of factly. And yeah, Bart has good reason not to trust Lex. That pressure sensor prison is something Clark knows that Bart hasn’t forgotten about even as he laughs and teases Clark about his boyfriend. Privately, the thought of how quickly Lex was able to create something like that is both frightening and kind of a turn on.
“I’m sure Dr. Wells will be in touch if they can’t figure it out on their own. You have way better bio-medical resources than they do anyway.” Sure, Clark is placating him a bit but it’s also true, the best kind of flattery.
Lex shrugs. “Still, it would take an interesting bug to affect his metabolism. He’s definitely going to have to do some digging into who Snart has been talking to lately to hook him up with something like that.”
And Lex could probably find that information in less than a day but he is right, the rest of the League tends to keep their distance from him and a few of them have fairly good reason. It isn’t even entirely due to Lex’s past, the League tries its best not to align itself with political entities, even corporations, with a few notable exceptions among its members.
Which leaves Clark a little torn when bringing up League business with Lex. Part of him is reminded painfully of what they went through when they were younger, Lex kept on the outside of some great secret, waiting to be deemed good enough, worthy enough to be trusted with it. Another part sees where the rest of the League is coming from, though he trusts Lex completely.
And a separate, smaller part of him, glowing like an ember in his chest, somewhat likes the idea of keeping Lex all to himself. He knows Lex better than anyone, sees the good in him like no one else, and gets to love him, all on his own. That’s selfish of him, Clark knows, but it’s selfish in a way he thinks Lex more than appreciates.
As they finish up dinner and sample dessert—Clark brought linzer tarts with a bright lemon curd filling; he swipes some of it on his finger and Lex leans in to lick it off, a sight that makes Clark swallow thickly—Clark asks about Lex’s day. An outsider might assume that Lex would have to be close-lipped about his exploits as head of LexCorp, as a means of protecting company secrets and as a matter of not divulging sensitive information to a member of the press. But Lex was never good at keeping Clark at arm’s length and if Clark was willing to tell him about his exploits as Superman, a little honesty on his part was only fair.
It was a kind of mutually assured destruction, putting all of their lives in each other’s hands, trusting the other to keep them. It worked far better than anyone would have predicted all of those years ago back in Smallville when the most important thing in the world seemed to be keeping Lex from ever learning Clark’s secret.
The way things stand between them now, Clark feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. He can stand taller, fly higher, carry the rest of the world on his back because Lex knows him and loves him and that makes everything easier.
Lex pours them both another glass of wine and then fixes him with a look over the rim of his glass. “Don’t think I didn’t see what else you got up to today.”
Clark quickly runs through the events of today in his head to try and find what is making Lex smirk at him like that. “The interview with the mayor?”
“No.” Lex’s voice lilts playfully.
“The fire in Suicide Slums?” Barely a fire, Superman caught it before it could cause more than a little smoke damage.
“Nope.”
Lex already knows about Captain Cold. What else did Clark do today? He can’t imagine a bit of editing and quote gathering is tease-worthy.
Between the glass of wine in his hand and the length of his coat, it takes a concerted effort but Lex manages to position himself over Clark, straddling his waist. Clark has to prop himself up half on his elbows to make room and set his own glass to the side. Already he feels a bit of something from the alcohol, a looseness, but having Lex in his lap makes him feel dizzy.
From his seat on top of Clark, Lex deigns to trace Clark’s jaw with one hand, admiring him. “I’m talking about the little boy you helped with his bullies, the old woman you carried groceries for, and the cat you saved from a tree.”
Oh, yeah. Clark had almost forgotten about those.
Maybe Clark should find it creepy that Lex can keep such close tabs on him. But at times like this, it feels more like Lex’s own version of a superpower, a way to even the scales between them. At least when Lex deploys it on him, he chooses to use that far-reaching surveillance for good instead of evil.
Lex takes another sip of his wine and sets his glass aside. His empty hands are now free to roam Clark, his face, his neck, his hair. Clark doesn’t really care what they do, though he likes the occasional tug of his hair or scratch of fingernails over his scalp. Far more interesting is the way Lex looks at him. It’s part scientist examining a specimen, part treasure hunter striking gold, and part of it is the way Lex has always looked at him, an unsolvable mystery and the answer to every question all in one.
It took Clark far too long to realize that he needed that look like sunlight.
“What am I going to do with you?” Lex muses to himself.
“What makes you think you need to do anything?”
Lex shrugs a little, bringing his lips together in a brief frown that doesn’t hold for long. “Well, the alternative seems to be letting you run through the city like a golden retriever that’s slipped it’s leash once the first day of spring rolls around.”
Now it’s Clark’s turn to frown, this time with confusion. “What do you mean?”
Lex sighs, like it’s his sworn duty to bear the burden of kissing the befuddlement from Clark’s face. A duty he accepts with a soft mouth, sucking Clark’s lower lip between both of his. When he is finished, Clark hasn’t forgotten his question but he can’t deny that it matters at least a little bit less too.
“It’s like you come alive with the promise of more sunlight,” Lex says. His thumb strokes the line of Clark’s cheekbone as he holds his face in his hands. “It’s hard to explain. You never get tired or lose motivation the way other people might. It’s not as though that bright spark inside of you ever really dims for long. But the difference is never as noticeable as it is on a day like today, when you’re out in full force and it’s like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud. There you are.”
Between Lex’s voice, almost reverent and breathtakingly fond, and the way his fingers comb through Clark’s hair, brushing back a curl from Clark’s forehead as though to see him better, Clark blushes.
“What are you talking about?” Clark fights hard to keep his voice light and amused.
“You remember when I suggested you spend an hour or two in front of sunlamp during the winter months?”
Clark scoffs. “Lex—“
“—I know. Jor-El claims Kryptonian’s don’t get seasonal affective disorder—“
“—Lex,” Clark groans—
“I just think it makes a whole lot of sense for someone who relies on the light of a yellow sun for his abilities to notice a difference when he is suddenly receiving less sunlight than usual. And then to accommodate that difference if one so chooses.”
Clark pauses for a moment when Lex does, having stated his case for the dozenth or so time. Sure, treading the same ground over and over again is annoying but when Clark looks up at Lex, all he can feel is warmth stirring in the pit of his belly. Because Lex is being sweet. On the outside, it might look like an argument but Lex is trying to make sure that Clark is caring for himself. Taking care of Clark is a hard thing to do and there is no one better suited to the task than Lex.
“It’s not like that really. I don’t notice a difference when the days get shorter or in the middle of winter. At least not any more than anyone else.”
Lex gives him a look that tells him exactly what he thinks of Clark comparing himself to everyone else.
“I’m not even sure it’s something biological,” he continues. “It’s more like—“
Clark considers how to word this without sounding incredibly sentimental. Mushy.
How did he feel when he woke up today with Lex before the rest of the city, with the pavement beneath his feet and the promise of a new day ahead? How did he feel standing beside him on the balcony, the sun warming the sky but with cool morning air on his skin, something sweet on his tongue and an unparalleled view?
How did he feel going to work at the Planet, working with Lois on a story that might help make his city better? Talking to people who don’t normally get heard and making sure they have a voice?
How did he feel helping Impulse, knowing that he has a team of people like him willing to do impossible things to save the world, that they can trust one another to have each other’s backs?
How did he feel helping that little girl rescue her cat? Or that little boy he walked home from school after telling off his bullies? Or the old woman he carried groceries for? The little boy had a big brother named Marcus in the pre-med program at Met U, he wants to become a doctor and he might be his little brother Anthony’s favorite superhero. The old woman had lived in her apartment on the eighth floor of the Tanhauser building on Jopson and 103rd for almost thirty years and she insists on taking the stairs at least once a day.
“It feels like hope?” Clark says like a question because he has never tried to put it into words before and he isn’t sure he has found the right one until it comes out of his mouth. “I woke up today and all I could think about was the promise of things getting better and the only thing I wanted to do was be a part of it.”
He turns his gaze back to Lex after allowing it to drift over his shoulder, out to the skyline gold and shining in front of him.
It’s a rare a precious thing to make Lex speechless and as Clark looks up at him, blue eyes searching his face, lips parted, breathless, he knows that he has managed it. He sees too, the moment when Lex decides the only thing left to do is kiss him.
Lex takes his face in both hands while Clark’s settle around Lex’s waist. The kiss is deep and tender, passionate but not a prelude to something else. Lex doesn’t roll his hips against him, pull his hair or bite his lip. He drinks from Clark instead, putting everything he has into it. His love, his desire, his envy, his need. Like Clark is something miraculous. And Lex has been trained since birth to seek out the miraculous and make it his own. Only in the past year, since they have gotten together has it really started to sink in that he doesn’t have to search and seek, grasp and take, hoard all that is good for himself. Clark giving himself over to him, wanting to be his, still seems to take him by surprise.
The sky goes orange and red in the last moments before the sun sets, light reaching across the atmosphere above them one last time. Beautiful.
“It was a good day, wasn’t it?” Clark says, not really expecting an answer. He knows it was, can feel the glow of it stored up in his chest like a miniature sun of its own.
The feeling isn’t something he can look at directly, as though it might vanish under closer examination, like it is too profoundly joyous and hopeful to last for long. He knows there will be a moment next week or in the next few days when the walls will close in on him again, when something will go wrong and the world will seem so small, so set in its ways, bound by terrible cycles.
But that doesn’t make this feeling wrong or unreal, doomed to vanish like the heat of the sun on the stones beneath them, the air already gone cold, the wind sweeping in.
The tip of Lex’s nose has gone cold and his cheeks are pink, potentially from kissing but more than likely from the chill. Clark can’t help bringing his hand to his cheek and trying to warm it. Lex turns his head and presses a kiss to Clark’s palm. “Shall we go home and make it an even better night?”
And they do. They bundle up the blankets and the picnic basket and walk to the penthouse side by side, their shoulders brushing. Clark could have them there in an instant, could already have Lex in the bedroom, taking off his clothes, warming him with his body skin to skin.
But instead they take their time. They don’t have to rush. The promise of more to come hangs heavy in the air, makes every touch sweeter.