hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-04-16 12:47 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-04-16 12:47 pm
No, not first, just desperate.
Dirty Girls? Preacher Gone to... Sunnydale.
Visitor? Priceless.
Everyone jumping on the Everwood bandwagon? Yeah,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
plum_evil, we need a bigger bus.
Also, I just got spoiled for SV, and I’ve been unspoiled all season long. I’m bitter like a really fucking bitter person. Shit.
Smallville
LoveAddictionObsession
He has the decency to wait until she goes to bed. Sometimes.
Lex’s sense of decency has never been as developed as other people’s, and it’s been a long time since Lex has dared or even wanted to compare himself to others. Lex is a Luthor, and Luthors are not like other people.
‘Luthors are not hoi polloi’ is just regurgitating the same nonsense that his father has engrained in him since before Lex’s first word. But it’s true, and perhaps Lex’s first word should have been ‘empire’ or ‘eccentric’ instead of ‘num.’ Or perhaps he was really saying ‘numb.’ It’s a shame he can’t ask his mother, but maybe he knew even then.
Maybe he’s always known that he’ll be numb and alone, surrounded by screens and obsessive tendencies.
He is obsessed.
At least he can admit it.
At least he waits for her breathing to even out before he slips out of his bedroom, their bedroom, and descends the staircase to the locked room that calls out to him.
He’s the one who can’t sleep without making his nightly sabbatical.
*
Lex does not believe in half-measures.
He believes in Michelin restaurants and V12 engines. He believes in driving too fast and always pushing too hard. It’s what expected of him every time he comes roaring to a halt in front of the Talon, and far be it from Lex to ever disappoint. After all, he’s required to be everything to everyone, and Helen understands that better than she lets on. He’s seen the way she dresses when no one’s looking, and that’s not how she looked splashed all over The Inquisitor.
She was prepared, and Lex didn’t buy the act for a moment, but it was endearing that she made the effort.
She’s no Clark, but he does appreciate her in her own way.
He might even love her.
But it’s not the same.
She’s not his mother. She’s not Pamela.
She’s not Clark.
She’s not the one he’s devoted a room too.
*
It’s always drafty in the castle, no matter the season, and Lex’s robe is tied tightly. He stopped walking around in slippers some time ago, and there’s only the slightest sound of contact as his bare feet meet up with wooden stairs and polished floors.
The key slides in easily enough, and there’s only the hint of a creak when he pushes the door open.
The lights are off, but the screens are on.
The screens are always on.
*
The screens are always dust-free. Lex cleans them himself.
He takes his time, leisurely rubbing and polishing with a skill he’s perfected over several months. It would never do for there to be smudges and streaks.
*
His time at night is more peaceful than during the day.
During the day there’s always a phone ringing or a lackey lurking or a girlfriend who looks at him funny whenever she sees him heading off in the direction of this room.
It’s not a shrine.
It’s nothing sinister, and Helen’s the one who asked.
She’s the one who wanted to walk through the door.
Lex just gave her what she asked for: the truth on six plasma screens and a rotating table.
He may love her, but he's obsessed with Clark.
He’s never going to get rid of the Porsche.
He is going to change the locks.
This is his room.
This is his addiction.
*
Last night it was the Porsche.
Hands sliding over broken metal and salt-stained leather, gathering residue that’s been gone for a long time. It took twice as long as normal before Lex touched himself, and he wrenched his back moving against the gearshift so he could look at the simulation.
Hard and fast, and Clark’s name didn’t tumble from his lips as much as it broke free.
Dying over and over and over, just to be reborn through Clark’s lips and Clark’s name.
Tonight, Lex stands in front of a larger-than-life black and white mug shot of Clark, and his hands caress lips that are always lush and skin that he has yet to worship the way he wants.
Lex paid well to get a copy of Clark’s police report after the Desiree incident, and he thinks of all sorts of scenarios involving Clark in jail. Of Jonathan Kent in jail, again, and Clark coming to him. Asking for his help. And then he remembers that that’s already happened, and not in the way he wanted it to.
So he thinks of something else.
This time he thinks of Clark coming to him tomorrow, today. Bursting into Lex’s office in the middle of the workday because he couldn’t lie any more. Because he wanted Lex to know the truth.
Lex is addicted to the truth.
Correction: Lex is addicted to Clark’s truth, and now his hands can unfasten his robe. Now one hand can push down his pajama bottoms, while the other hand continues to caress the visage on the screen.
Lex’s mind is running rampant, and he thinks of Clark on his knees begging for Lex’s forgiveness.
Lex thinks of Clark telling him that he loves him, and his hand moves faster, jacking his cock while his thumb rubs over the swollen head. He’s harder than he was making love to Helen.
He only gets this way for Clark.
He only gets this way at the thought of Clark telling him the truth.
In his fantasy, Clark offers Lex anything to believe him.
And in these fantasies, sometimes Lex makes love to Clark. Sometimes he kicks him out. Sometimes he hates Clark for ruining his obsession.
But when he comes, he’s pulled out of his fantasies, and all that remains is the come-down from his high.
Lex has enough experience with fixes and junkies to know he doesn't have long before the lassitude sets in. So he removes the cleaning supplies from the base of the television and cleans himself off before wiping the come off the screen.
Then he arranges things the way they’re supposed to be, and he leaves knowing he’ll be back soon.
As long as he doesn’t know the truth, his addiction will continue.
As long as he doesn't have Clark, the obsession will go on.
And even though he loves Helen, it doesn't begin to compare to how he feels about Clark.
-finis-
Dedicated to the original![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
obsessedmuch who insisted that this was my only course of action.
At least I’m in the right fandom directory to write WA now.
Visitor? Priceless.
Everyone jumping on the Everwood bandwagon? Yeah,
plum_evil, we need a bigger bus.Also, I just got spoiled for SV, and I’ve been unspoiled all season long. I’m bitter like a really fucking bitter person. Shit.
Smallville
LoveAddictionObsession
He has the decency to wait until she goes to bed. Sometimes.
Lex’s sense of decency has never been as developed as other people’s, and it’s been a long time since Lex has dared or even wanted to compare himself to others. Lex is a Luthor, and Luthors are not like other people.
‘Luthors are not hoi polloi’ is just regurgitating the same nonsense that his father has engrained in him since before Lex’s first word. But it’s true, and perhaps Lex’s first word should have been ‘empire’ or ‘eccentric’ instead of ‘num.’ Or perhaps he was really saying ‘numb.’ It’s a shame he can’t ask his mother, but maybe he knew even then.
Maybe he’s always known that he’ll be numb and alone, surrounded by screens and obsessive tendencies.
He is obsessed.
At least he can admit it.
At least he waits for her breathing to even out before he slips out of his bedroom, their bedroom, and descends the staircase to the locked room that calls out to him.
He’s the one who can’t sleep without making his nightly sabbatical.
*
Lex does not believe in half-measures.
He believes in Michelin restaurants and V12 engines. He believes in driving too fast and always pushing too hard. It’s what expected of him every time he comes roaring to a halt in front of the Talon, and far be it from Lex to ever disappoint. After all, he’s required to be everything to everyone, and Helen understands that better than she lets on. He’s seen the way she dresses when no one’s looking, and that’s not how she looked splashed all over The Inquisitor.
She was prepared, and Lex didn’t buy the act for a moment, but it was endearing that she made the effort.
She’s no Clark, but he does appreciate her in her own way.
He might even love her.
But it’s not the same.
She’s not his mother. She’s not Pamela.
She’s not Clark.
She’s not the one he’s devoted a room too.
*
It’s always drafty in the castle, no matter the season, and Lex’s robe is tied tightly. He stopped walking around in slippers some time ago, and there’s only the slightest sound of contact as his bare feet meet up with wooden stairs and polished floors.
The key slides in easily enough, and there’s only the hint of a creak when he pushes the door open.
The lights are off, but the screens are on.
The screens are always on.
*
The screens are always dust-free. Lex cleans them himself.
He takes his time, leisurely rubbing and polishing with a skill he’s perfected over several months. It would never do for there to be smudges and streaks.
*
His time at night is more peaceful than during the day.
During the day there’s always a phone ringing or a lackey lurking or a girlfriend who looks at him funny whenever she sees him heading off in the direction of this room.
It’s not a shrine.
It’s nothing sinister, and Helen’s the one who asked.
She’s the one who wanted to walk through the door.
Lex just gave her what she asked for: the truth on six plasma screens and a rotating table.
He may love her, but he's obsessed with Clark.
He’s never going to get rid of the Porsche.
He is going to change the locks.
This is his room.
This is his addiction.
*
Last night it was the Porsche.
Hands sliding over broken metal and salt-stained leather, gathering residue that’s been gone for a long time. It took twice as long as normal before Lex touched himself, and he wrenched his back moving against the gearshift so he could look at the simulation.
Hard and fast, and Clark’s name didn’t tumble from his lips as much as it broke free.
Dying over and over and over, just to be reborn through Clark’s lips and Clark’s name.
Tonight, Lex stands in front of a larger-than-life black and white mug shot of Clark, and his hands caress lips that are always lush and skin that he has yet to worship the way he wants.
Lex paid well to get a copy of Clark’s police report after the Desiree incident, and he thinks of all sorts of scenarios involving Clark in jail. Of Jonathan Kent in jail, again, and Clark coming to him. Asking for his help. And then he remembers that that’s already happened, and not in the way he wanted it to.
So he thinks of something else.
This time he thinks of Clark coming to him tomorrow, today. Bursting into Lex’s office in the middle of the workday because he couldn’t lie any more. Because he wanted Lex to know the truth.
Lex is addicted to the truth.
Correction: Lex is addicted to Clark’s truth, and now his hands can unfasten his robe. Now one hand can push down his pajama bottoms, while the other hand continues to caress the visage on the screen.
Lex’s mind is running rampant, and he thinks of Clark on his knees begging for Lex’s forgiveness.
Lex thinks of Clark telling him that he loves him, and his hand moves faster, jacking his cock while his thumb rubs over the swollen head. He’s harder than he was making love to Helen.
He only gets this way for Clark.
He only gets this way at the thought of Clark telling him the truth.
In his fantasy, Clark offers Lex anything to believe him.
And in these fantasies, sometimes Lex makes love to Clark. Sometimes he kicks him out. Sometimes he hates Clark for ruining his obsession.
But when he comes, he’s pulled out of his fantasies, and all that remains is the come-down from his high.
Lex has enough experience with fixes and junkies to know he doesn't have long before the lassitude sets in. So he removes the cleaning supplies from the base of the television and cleans himself off before wiping the come off the screen.
Then he arranges things the way they’re supposed to be, and he leaves knowing he’ll be back soon.
As long as he doesn’t know the truth, his addiction will continue.
As long as he doesn't have Clark, the obsession will go on.
And even though he loves Helen, it doesn't begin to compare to how he feels about Clark.
-finis-
Dedicated to the original
obsessedmuch who insisted that this was my only course of action.At least I’m in the right fandom directory to write WA now.
no subject
no subject
I'm glad you liked my take on the matter. Thanks!