6. [personal profile] eclectic: SPN - In What is and Should Never Be, John died, and Mary turned them into hunters.

“Come on, honey,” his mom calls, and Dean grimaces, knowing that if he gives any sign that he’s too old to be called a pet name Mom will just use it more often. He checks the duffel one last time to make sure all the weapons are properly secured, then grabs it off of the bed.

He likes it better when they split up, these days. That way he can get a motel room by himself and not feel so much like they’re wasting money. Time was, Sam and him having their own room was a grown-up luxury, an indulgence granted once Dean was old enough to be responsible for both of them (and, not incidentally, when Mary Winchester was faced with the prospect of two teenage boys, both of them in desperate need of some privacy on occasion). With Sam gone, they really could do with just one room, if only it wouldn’t earn them such creepy, knowing looks. Dean just hates being able to tell that a guy behind the counter is imagining a porno starring him (poolboy, daughter’s boyfriend, whatever) and Mom (MILF).

With Sam gone, the family’s hanging by threads anyway. It would be easier if he wasn’t constantly faced with the reminder of how their team of three’s been cut down to two.

Dean’s not the momma’s boy Sam called him when he left. Dean can take down a werewolf without flinching; he can cut off a vampire’s head with a single blow. Yeah, he learned that at his Mom’s side, but it’s not apron strings that keep him on the job, it’s duty. Loyalty. Mom might’ve forgiven Sam for deciding that he was made for more important things than saving people’s lives, but Dean doesn’t have to.

Still grumbling to himself, he slings his bag into the back of the truck. Mom’s got a line on this gun that can supposedly kill anything, even a demon. Ellen says the guy who has it is old-school and that not even the Campbell name is going to get them very far, but Dean knows how convincing Mom can be, and let’s just say he’s not betting on Daniel Elkins in this negotiation.

“You want to drive?” she offers. He shakes his head, already thinking about which tape he’s going to play. Now that Sam’s gone, the old three-part rule where one gets to drive, one gets to pick the music, and one gets to pick the food has fallen apart. When it’s time to eat, it’s usually a little awkward, though mostly they just go with whoever suggests stopping first. Just another of those things that doesn’t work quite right any more.

Even though Dean’s looking forward to icing the yellow-eyed demon, he sometimes wonders what they’re going to do afterwards. Eventually they’ll probably work out a better rhythm, him and Mom (God knows they’re never going to add one of the guys she hooks up with to the team, even one of the hunters who think they can be Dean’s stepdaddy). But it’s been going on three years now, and he’s getting tired of waiting for Sam’s absence to stop hurting.

Mom writes Sam, Dean knows. Probably tells him funny stories, like the thing two hunts back with the werebat, or maybe even how last week she had to gently point out that Dean wasn’t wearing his own underwear and should possibly put on some jeans before answering the door. Despite Dean’s determined failure to respond, she tells him about how Sam’s doing: all As, of course, and a gorgeous girlfriend (who Dean thinks sounds just a little bit too much like a woman he knows: momma’s boy his ass, not that he’s going to break the silence to tell Sam as much; let the boy work out his freaky Freudian issues himself, if that’s what he wanted so badly).

Sometimes Dean wonders whether his Mom secretly thought he should be doing the same things as Sam, despite how she’d raised them. She always sounded so proud of Sam’s papers on symbolism in Finnegan’s Wake or whatever. But Dean had never been much for school when he could be out laying ghosts—or girls for that matter—and Mom’s never failed to tell him when he did a good job.

Dean picks some Doors, the kind of stuff Mom says Dad used to like. He opens his mouth to ask her if she thinks that they’re really going to get the demon this time, but he’s not a kid any more, asking stupid questions. The CD player tells them that the days are bright and filled with pain as Mom takes the on-ramp to the interstate, and Dean stares out the windshield and swears that this is going to be the year that they get their revenge.

7. [livejournal.com profile] ciian, Dark Angel, Max/Alec/Logan. Note: Aaaaaand a third classic, the conduitfic!  NC-17.

For starters, they were all pretty drunk.

One of the new transgenic arrivals had put together a still whose output would’ve killed an unmodified human pretty quick, what with the alcohol and undefined “relaxant” she’d added. Alec and Max were splitting a jug, needing some relief from what had been an exhausting series of days in TC. Logan knew better than to try to keep up, but that left him to kill his bottle of wine all on his own, sitting across the room from them, over by his jerry-rigged Eyes Only setup. He was far from sober himself.

Frankly, he was enjoying watching Max get silly, and even Alec was less of a jerk and more relaxed, flushed and spread-legged as he slouched back in his seat and they passed the jug between them. Alec told a hilarious story about a guy he’d scammed, with a punchline involving three toilet seats and a dilapidated baby buggy, and Logan would’ve fallen out of his chair if his legs hadn’t been anchored in place with mechanical assistance. Max busted out with the even funnier tale of a gullible new recruit at Jam Pony, a box of bees, and a tragically mislabeled sex toy.

“That’s nothing,” Alec said when he’d stopped clutching helplessly at his stomach. “This one girl I was with—” and proceeded to recount a hard-to-believe scenario that was filthier than Logan was even capable of imagining.

“Bullshit,” he said when Alec finished, because he was honor-bound not to let the guy get away with a story like that.

Alec blinked at him, doe-eyed and taunting. “What, you don’t think I’m pretty enough to pull it off?”

“I certainly see the attraction of shutting you up by any means necessary,” Logan conceded.

Max snort-giggled until the homebrew came out of her nose, and then they were laughing at her until she started crumpling up papers from the table in front of her and nailing both Alec and Logan with her surprisingly pointy missiles.

“God, I miss sex,” Alec said, when they’d calmed sufficiently to talk again.

“What, you can’t get one of your little groupies to put out?” Max grumped. Logan thought about pointing out that there were twice as many TC residents who followed Max around, panting—hanging off her every word, he meant. But he kept his mouth shut because he wasn’t that drunk.

Alec shook his head mournfully and leaned his head on his fist, squashing his cheek into a fairly ridiculous expression. “Bad for morale if I pick one, worse if I don’t stick to one. Like being a damn squad leader again.”

Max shook her head. “So glad I got out of Manticore before puberty.”

“’Cause you’re so well-adjusted,” Alec said, with only a hint of edge. Max shifted in her seat and Logan really, really hated Alec.

“What about you?” Alec asked, turning towards Logan. “You’n Max doing more than giving each other longing looks these days?”

Logan felt his lip curling, even through the alcoholic numbness. “You know we aren’t like that.”

Alec sniggered and wiped his wet mouth with the hand that wasn’t holding the jug. “Sure, and I’m not a screwed-up killing machine.”

“You know we can’t even touch,” Max broke in, sharp, and from the look on her face she wanted to pound Alec flat for daring to bring up the topic, but wasn’t entirely sure she could stand.

Alec shoved the jug across the table to her; she caught it and drank and he raised his hand to the side of his head, thumb and pinky extended, miming a phone. “Don’t need to touch each other to get happy,” he lectured. “You tell him what to do and how hot it gets you, you touch yourself, magic happens.”

Logan could feel the flush rising on his face, drunk-slowed as the rest of him. Max looked no better off, though it was a little harder to tell with her. Except the aggression in her voice said that she was feeling something: “Yeah, like you know so much.”

Alec shrugged. “’s easy. Logan, open your pants.”

His voice had the steely command that X5s could produce and Logan couldn’t be blamed, drunk as he was, for the fact that his hands twitched before he could stop them. Max’s mouth dropped open, shock and something more.

“Fine,” Alec sighed. “You do it, Max.”

Logan swallowed, and he couldn’t quite keep his focus on Max’s face, so he was just a bit surprised by what came out of her mouth next. “Fine,” in the same snitty tone, and then: “Open his pants.”

Logan’s eyes snapped wide, because that sounded like—Alec was standing, ambling over to him with the loose-hipped stride of a guy almost too drunk to remain upright, and then he straddled Logan’s legs, sparing only the slightest grimace for the way the exoskeleton must have been uncomfortable to sit on.

“Max?” Logan’s voice was breathy and he felt himself flush even hotter.

“He can touch you,” she said, just as Alec started in on the button at Logan’s waist. Logan wasn’t sure whether it was explanation or permission.

If there had ever been a time for alcohol to intervene and prevent proper performance, now would have been it, but Logan’s life wasn’t that well organized, and he was hardening even before Alec made it through to his boxers.

“Now what?” Alec asked, fingers light against Logan’s cloth-covered erection.

“Let me see,” Max ordered. Alec poured himself off of Logan and just as quickly pulled Logan to his feet, skimming pants and boxers down over the exoskeleton—yeah, Logan put it on first these days, so goddamn what? Alec put a hand on Logan’s back, just next to his hip, and turned him a little towards Max.

God, he must look totally ridiculous, a freak in a metal cage and a button-down shirt, and he turned his head so that he wouldn’t have to see Max, but Alec was right there. “Unh-unh,” Alec chided. “Gotta show her.” His fingers made short work of Logan’s shirt, sliding it off his arms.

“Kiss him,” Max said, her voice wavering. So Logan found himself pressed full-length against Alec, naked skin against Alec’s jeans and jacket, mouth opening without his conscious intent. Alec’s mouth was hot and alcoholic; Logan could feel himself getting drunker already. Alec kissed him like Max would’ve kissed him after all this time, confident enough to be desperate and unashamed. Alec had one hand in Logan’s hair, keeping him in position, and when he moved away from Logan’s mouth to work his way down Logan’s neck he made sure to keep them angled so that Max would be seeing everything.

“Yeah,” Max ground out as Alec dropped to his knees, sliding his hands up Logan’s thighs between the gaps in the exoskeleton. He went down on Logan as smoothly as if he was implementing some of his more exotic training—bad thought, quickly suppressed—and his mouth felt even hotter on Logan’s dick.

It was a sloppy blowjob, more licking than sucking, Alec pulling off again and again to show Max what he was doing, using his hands to make sure that Logan stayed exposed to her. The knowledge that she was watching more than made up for the patchy physical stimulation. When Logan managed to keep his eyes focused long enough, he could see that Max had a hand between her own legs, fully dressed but not letting that get in her way. Her mouth was swollen, like Logan had been able to bite at her lips for himself.

“Gonna—” Logan managed, and Alec pulled back so that he was only sucking on the head through Logan’s orgasm, Logan’s come slipping messily out of his mouth, over his lips and chin. Logan would’ve fallen over if not for the locked servos, panting as he dragged his eyes from Alec to Max, who looked just as stunned.

“Give—give it to her,” he ordered, because he needed to touch Max somehow.

Alec complied quickly—less shocking given that he’d just been on his knees, but still weird given how hard he usually worked to pretend he was doing whatever you told him for reasons of his own. Okay, even Logan’s orgasm-fogged brain was relatively quick to point out that Alec’s reasons of his own were not terribly difficult to figure out here.

Regardless, Alec got close enough to Max that she was able to grab him and pull him down for a kiss, open-mouthed and smacking, and then she was licking Alec’s face clean, sexy cat-tongue sweeps, and Logan groaned and put his hand on his spent cock, which very much liked the view.

Max met his eyes and then pulled her shirt off; Alec unhooked her black bra and immediately bent to suck one of her nipples, framing her other breast in his hand so that it was like they were both showing off for Logan.

Logan managed to sit back down without falling over, point for him, and stared as Alec peeled Max’s leather pants down her legs—even X5s weren’t able to make that look particularly graceful, but who cared when he was exposing all that gorgeous skin—and knelt down in front of her. Max’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, but then she looked straight at Logan, palming her own breasts because Alec was busy sliding his hands up her thighs, and said, “Yeah.” She was saying it to Logan.

Alec was noisy between her legs, the sounds wet and dirty-filthy-good. Logan could see her rocking forward, letting him fuck her with his tongue. His fingers were tight on her thighs, straining to keep her open as she flexed against him.

Max cried out sharply, her mouth falling open, gorgeous as something out of a pre-Pulse porno. Logan was hard again, incredibly, stroking himself as Max put her hand in Alec’s hair and shoved him away.

“Condom?” Max asked, gulping air. Alec hesitated a second and then dove for his jacket, discarded five drinks past on the table beside them. While he was fumbling to open the plastic, Max grabbed the jacket and threw it on the dirty floor, protecting herself as she got on her hands and knees, facing Logan. Watching him.

Alec didn’t protest the abuse of his coat, falling to his knees behind Max, one hand on her hip and one on his erection as he guided himself in. They both grunted, like this was a very screwed-up workout, and then Alec was fucking her with the same rhythm Logan was using on his own cock. His hand disappeared under her, out of Logan’s view, but Logan could imagine how he was fingering her from the sounds that she made. Her hair was sweaty, sticking to her neck, and her gorgeous breasts were bouncing as she pushed back against every thrust. Alec had his head up, eyes fixed on Logan.

“Jesus, Max—” Logan managed, and that was it, game over, coming all over himself until it hurt.

“Logan,” Max half-sobbed, and Alec sped up, pulling Max back so that she was almost sitting on his lap, still so beautifully displayed for him, Alec’s pale hand splayed over her stomach while his other worked between her smoothly muscled thighs.

Max whimpered one final time as Alec grunted, both of them falling forward and Max just barely keeping her face from slamming into the floor. “Whoops,” Alec said, reminding Logan that he wasn’t the only drunk one here, and Max gave an aborted giggle even as she flailed an arm back to smack Alec’s ass, which was some seriously impressive flexibility. Alec twitched and hissed as he pulled away from Max.

Logan had a sudden fantasy of fucking Alec while he was inside Max, a barrier letting him feel Max without touching her directly. It left him open-mouthed and speechless, slumping back in his chair while Alec shuffled around with his jeans still open at the fly, tossing Max’s clothes in her general direction. Logan managed to get a hand up when a nearly-clean rag flew at him, but he didn’t feel up to articulating his thanks in words, so he just nodded. Now he was drunk and blissed out; he’d be lucky if he moved in the next eight hours.

“Oh my God,” Max said with the dawning dismay of a woman who hadn’t had this whole thing on her to-do list when she woke up that morning.

Logan raised an eyebrow at Alec, expecting the usual smart remark from him, but Alec just retreated out of her immediate reach. He was staring off into the middle distance as he moved, dressed now and only waiting to reclaim his coat.

“Hey,” Logan said, soft. “It’s okay.”

They stared at him, Max dumbfounded and Alec less readable but still evidently nervous.

“Everybody had a good time, right?” he prompted. “I know I did.”

“I’m drunk,” Max said, accusatory.

Logan opened his eyes as wide as they’d go, even though it made his head spin. “Yeah, pretty clear on that, seeing as I’m right there with you.”

More silence. Logan was glad Alec was showing uncharacteristic discretion, though maybe he just realized he was the one Max would beat up if the conversation escalated. “Look,” Logan continued. “If you want, we can chalk this up to the homebrew, never talk about it again. But I’m not gonna pretend it was a mistake, or something I wouldn’t want if I were sober.”

Alec straightened, folding his arms over his chest, as if he were more surprised than Max. For her part, Max gulped and patted at her hair, which was exhibiting its usual preternatural ability to look good after intense activity. God, she was gorgeous, Logan thought, and realized that he was grinning dopily at her. So, he’d pretty much exhausted his ability to engage in rational thought; he was going to enjoy the afterglow and the drunk now.

“I—I gotta think about this, okay?”

Logan nodded, because for Max that was practically a commitment ceremony, rings and everything.

She fled quickly thereafter, leaving Alec still standing across the room, watching Logan like he was an exotic new lifeform, which was pretty ironic if you thought about it, or anyway if you were tipsy and thought about it. “You really down with this?” Alec was holding on to himself like he wasn’t sure where he ended and the rest of the world began.

Logan nodded, unworried for the moment. “You?”

Alec’s still-swollen mouth opened in surprise—very good look on him, Logan noted—like he hadn’t expected to be consulted. “I, uh—” He dropped his eyes, blushing. “I didn’t mean to mess you guys up.”

“Might have escaped your notice, but there is no me and Max. Not without—” he raised a hand and gestured sloppily, but managed to include Alec. “But what I want to know is what you’re thinking.”

Alec snorted. “Seriously? I’m thinking: I don’t get this lucky.”

Logan smirked in return. “I’m pretty sure that’s what the alcohol’s for.”

Alec jerked his head up, and when he saw how Logan was watching him—fond and a little fuzzy, at this point in the evening—he managed a small smile. “You, um, need any help gettin’ back to your place?”

Whatever virus Max had left on Alec’s skin was dead now, so Logan accepted the offer. Even drunk, Alec wasn’t anyone you wanted to encounter in a dark alley if you had mischief on your mind. Logan let Alec put a hand on his arm, guiding his drink-loosened muscles, and they left the scene of the indiscretion.

Logan wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but that was actually not so different from any other day, and he lived his life as an optimist: tell the truth and shame the devil. He’d done his part. Now he just needed to see what Max, and Alec, would do with theirs.

Do with their parts, he thought, and sniggered, which made him stumble against Alec, who was warm and solid at his side.

“You are really drunk,” Alec said, but he wasn’t mocking.

“Yeah, well, you’re really cute,” Logan pointed out.

And if Alec was grumbling about what he’d gotten himself into when he finally poured Logan into his bed and left, that was just an extra benefit, almost enough to offset the inevitable hangover.

Logan contemplated his ceiling, watching it shiver and spin as he slid towards sleep. Nobody post-Pulse had the perfect life. But some days, exoskeleton and all, he knew he got by as well as anybody could.

8. [livejournal.com profile] catdancerz: SV: Jason Teague didn't die in the Kent's house... Lex just let everyone think he did.

“You don’t need the cuffs,” Jason said, the way he always did.

Lex ran a hand up Jason’s arm, ending at the metal that linked him to the wall. Jason was losing muscle mass, with such limited range of motion, but he was obviously still performing whatever exercises he could manage. “And yet I find them so reassuring.” Jason was behaving now, lying down on his cot whenever Lex knocked without needing the incentive of the taser, but he was obviously still waiting for his chance.

Chance at what, Lex still wasn’t entirely sure. If Jason believed him that Genevieve was dead, then there was only revenge and the crystals, both of which would provide a man of Jason’s heritage sufficient motivation to escape.

“Your healing is nearly complete,” Lex told him, though it must have been just as obvious to Jason. He had to wonder whether there was some proto-metahuman characteristics in the families involved in the hunt for the crystals; Jason had survived a shot and a fall from a great height even before the meteor had buried him in the debris of the Kents’ house, and even so he’d survived until Lex could get him into a controlled environment and treat him with the most advanced LuthorCorp technology.

“Let me go,” Jason asked. He was looking up at Lex with those lying green eyes, and he was almost good at it.

“You told me that Clark has more to do with the stones than any of us,” Lex reminded him. “I’m still waiting for a compelling explanation.”

Jason rolled his head on his neck and shifted his shoulders. “The answer’s still the same: I was just trying to distract you. I was jealous of Clark.”

“Hmm,” Lex said, checking the latest results from Jason’s bloodwork. “Here’s the thing, Jason. I can’t have you around Smallville. There’s Lana, and Clark, and too much history. You lack unusual abilities, so I can’t justify locking you in 33.1 for further examination. I don’t want your evident skills to go to waste, but I just don’t have a good reason to keep you around.”

Jason was, promisingly, silent. He was thinking about his options rather than promising the first nonsense that came to mind. Lex liked that in a man.

“Your father shot me,” he said slowly. “I wasn’t too happy about that.”

“You’re not too happy about your captivity now,” Lex pointed out. “Given your past … divided loyalties, I can’t be sure you wouldn’t deal with him against me. He’s very good at convincing people to let bygones be bygones.”

Jason frowned. Lex had some honest sympathy for him: a boy trapped in a family dynasty he never wanted, coming to Smallville only to find that all the drama had not just followed him, it had escalated. Jason lacked ambition, yes, but not everyone was suited to rule, and a good thing too. “I really never knew anything important about the stones,” Jason said at last. “My mother was never very good at sharing.”

Yes, Lex had seen how Genevieve had touched her son. He’d recognized it.

He waited for more.

“Send me somewhere else,” Jason offered. “I speak five languages, I’m comfortable with travel, I know the ins and outs of an international business. Give me a chance to prove that I can be my own man.”

By being mine? Lex wondered. That, he didn’t say, having developed a finer brain-mouth filter since his angry teenage years.

Still, Jason had something very promising about him, a little bit like that researcher/activist Tess Mercer who was tearing up the ranks. Lex could see Jason running his own division, in time, if properly watched and guided. Lex had a number of overseas projects that could use a clever hand, pending the time when Lex might need to leave the country.

Lex wouldn’t tell him about the surveillance implants, of course. Jason had been an ideal test subject, so out of it that he wouldn’t have known if they’d given him an organ transplant after his rescue, much less a micrometer-thin camera and transmission apparatus.

“It’s a thought,” Lex said. “It would be a more attractive thought if you’d tell me all about those childhood trips of yours looking for the crystals.”

Jason sighed. “I’ve already—I’ll tell it all again. Can I sit up, though? This isn’t exactly comfortable.”

Lex thought about it. Jason knew that if Lex’s vitals spiked or dropped off then security would come in to show him the error of his ways. He was vulnerable enough for Lex’s purposes, even upright.

“Certainly,” Lex said, adding a little amusement at Jason’s preoccupation with trivialities to his tone. He sat down in the chair by the door and watched Jason struggle to sit on his cot without exposing too much of himself—those short hospital gowns were just plain mortifying, no one could deny that. “Why don’t we start with your time in France?”

9. [personal profile] jakrar: Clark doesn’t panic and abandon Lex in “Shattered” (or maybe he does, but then he gathers his courage and rescues Lex from Belle Reve without waiting until it’s too late). Also, Clark realizes that he knows someone who might be able to help in this situation: Virgil Swann. … Is Virgil Swann trustworthy under these circumstances? And, if Swann isn’t, how do Clark and Lex cope?

Lex looked around the squat and had to laugh. In all his drugged-out, dissolute youth, he’d never quite managed to find himself in a place as rundown as this abandoned building in Queens, and upright Clark Kent had managed to get them here, where the crunch beneath their feet was equal parts syringes and rat bones, within two days of escaping Belle Reve.

Abruptly his legs threatened to give out on him again—Swann had given him another dose of those fucking horse tranquilizers they had in the asylum, that was the only explanation—and he had to lean into Clark to keep upright. Clark quickly wrapped his arm around Lex’s shoulder and guided him to where a dirty blanket mostly covered a single dining room chair.

“I’m sorry,” Clark said again.

“Clark,” Lex said, and forgot that anything more needed saying for a second, because really that was the only meaningful word he’d been using for over a year. He cleared his throat. “Your faith in humanity is one of your finest qualities. Virgil Swann cutting a deal with my father is his mistake, not yours. I’m just glad you heard him talking.” I’m just glad you admitted that you can hear around corners, he didn’t add. If he’d had the energy, he would have added something about trust but verify (with bonus side lecture on how Reagan’s translation from Russian hadn’t been idiomatic), but he was congratulating himself on staying conscious, so all that would have to wait.

“Why did you do it?” he asked instead, swaying a little even sitting down. “Why did you change your mind and come back for me?”

Spots of red appeared high on Clark’s cheeks. “The look on your face, when you saw what I could do,” he said at last. “You weren’t—afraid.”

Afraid, never. Awed, yes, and other words approaching worship, for all Clark would never allow Lex to worship him. Learning more about Clark’s powers while Clark had appealed to Virgil Swann for assistance had only increased Lex’s amazed reverence. “I’m never afraid of you, Clark,” Lex said, ruining it by tacking on, “I’m too busy being afraid of me.”

Clark got down on one knee, proposal-like enough to make Lex suppress a smirk, and they were at eye level. “Don’t say that, Lex,” he said, as serious as a meteor strike. “I know how hard you’ve been fighting to keep from being what your father wants you to be. He locked you up in a mental institution and you still fought him. Don’t let him win by believing what he tells you about the kind of man you are.”

By the end of Clark’s speech, Lex was a hairsbreadth away from proposing marriage himself. Given what Clark had put up with to save him so far, there was a good chance that he’d stick with Lex afterwards, but Lex wasn’t going to put him in that position. “Clark,” he said again, smiling helplessly, raising his hand to Clark’s cheek. Then he swallowed and made himself face reality. “The drugs should be out of my system in a few more hours,” he said, dropping his hand, and pretended that Clark’s eyes dipped in disappointment rather than acknowledgement. “Then we can figure out how to stay off the radar of two of America’s most powerful men.”

“I should check in at the farm,” Clark said, nodding agreement.

Lex wanted to tell him not to go, that Swann might think he was only sharing information with Lionel that related to Lex but that Lionel would insinuate himself into Swann’s knowledge of Clark in any way he could; Swann knew enough about Clark’s vulnerabilities that he could easily be walking into a trap. But Clark was going back to make sure that his mother and father were safe, and he wouldn’t be Clark Kent if that weren’t more important to him than any risk to himself.

“Be careful,” he said instead. “Use your X-ray vision to scan for surveillance from a mile out, then scan again when you get inside the farmhouse for any listening devices or cameras. Turn on a radio and go into an interior room to get maximum protection from any long-distance microphones. Don’t tell them where we are, not even the city, for their own protection.” Clark listened to it all with the tolerant humor he usually showed when Lex explained history. Lex only hoped that he remembered it just as well.

“Go,” Lex told him. “I’ll be fine here.” When Clark returned, they’d figure out which of Lex’s emergency stashes of money and information would be safest to raid.

“Lex,” Clark said, and stopped. Lex had the oddest thought: what if Clark was saying his name the same way he said Clark’s, like a talisman? “I’m going to take care of you, I promise. All of this—it started with me. I’m not going to let him hurt you any more.”

Lex didn’t believe it, couldn’t afford to. But he could believe that Clark wanted to keep him safe, and that was far more than he deserved (if less than he wanted). “I know, Clark,” he said, because that was a lie worth telling. “We’ll figure it out.”

Clark grinned at him, and then, so fast that Lex almost thought he imagined it, he darted forward, kissing Lex’s temple. Lex opened his mouth to say something—what, he had no idea—but the room was already empty, Clark leaving behind only the whoosh that Lex was starting to associate with the use of his powers.

Lex had been rescued by a real master of the universe. Even if he didn’t understand why, he wasn’t going to ignore the call of destiny. He was going to make sure that Clark’s innocence, his desire to think the best even of people like Swann, weren’t taken advantage of.

It might seem foolish, even arrogant, to sit here in this lightless wreck of a building, on the run and still doped to the gills, and vow that he was going to protect a superhuman force. But he wasn’t going to be loopy on drugs for long, and he wasn’t going to stay on the run for much longer than that. And once he got his game on, Lionel and Swann were going to learn what Lex already knew: he’d been waiting for Clark all his life. Now that he had Clark, now that Clark had picked him, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep Clark safe.

Swann had lived a long and productive life, and beaten the odds for a paraplegic. Lex was fairly certain that Swann’s luck was about to change.
arliss: (Default)

From: [personal profile] arliss

The first two are wonderful--especially the DA one, yum! The Jason Teague one is intriguing. I must admit, I only Netflixed SV S4, so I'm not SV-familiar, otherwise. But I enjoyed them all, thank you.
livrelibre: DW barcode (Default)

From: [personal profile] livrelibre

I guess it's not a shock that Dean, while still angsty, is more well-adjusted in the Mary version of this world. And Threesome's are always a good answer:) And I missed later SV canon but oh the last one! These were great!
eclectic: (omgyay)

From: [personal profile] eclectic

Yey! Even more fic! I loved them all, but my favoritests was the last one. Oh, Lex, how do you manage to always end up in the same spot?
sherrold: Rse from Dr Who, smiling and full of love (Default)

From: [personal profile] sherrold

I've always loved conduit fic

and that's one of the best scenarios for it, ever! Awesome story; good to see them again.


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