(no subject)
Title: Make A Deal with God
Pairing: Uh, hint at Lex/Lana
Rated: PG-13/R
Notes: Um, post ep fic for 'Lexmas' I guess.
He likes to play with fire. Likes it even more when it explodes in his hands, and he gets to watch everyone else crawl around on their hands and knees to try and pick up the pieces. Anything to hide the mess that Lex Luthor's made.
She's pacing now, and pacing back and forth anxiously. Her hands are moving, and he can see her lips moving, but he raises an eyebrow as he leans back, smirking. Nothing really to say, nothing to do. She's mad, furious, actually. He can tell by the way she stops to twirl her hair around the tip of her finger, chew on the side of her lip and glare. He could sit up and she'd start pacing again.
How dare he. How dare he do that to Clark, to Mr. Kent.
He likes to play with fire, likes sitting at his desk, behind the heavy stained glass, behind all these heavy cement bricks. He likes to sit there and watch the granade that Griff's set off explode around him. He likes the very idea that he can walk away from the protection of his own four walls, and walk into disaster. It's like walking through fields of nothing, through yards of char and brokeness, and having that smug feeling in the center of his chest that when he walks away, he doesn't have to look back. He doesn't have to feel anything.
He wants to hit her. Hit her and hold her to his chest because it dawns on him that he'll never have what he dreamt. He knew that, he did this on purpose. He didn't want to have that, let her story end up like his mother's. She's so much more to him, to the world. Just hard enough for her head to snap back, see his hand print on the side of her face. He wants her to run away, because everyone he ever loved has died, and left him. He's never said the left him part because that shows vunerability. Like the breaking of his heart when Lana sits on the edge of the bed and pulls her knees to her chest, head resting against jeans as she closes her eyes. She's done.
How dare he hurt his friends.
He doesn't like the way she says that. His body moves different now, with the scar. It'll take a while for the tough skin to melt back into his own and he can start feeling less alien. But for now, it's just sort of there. He runs his fingers over and over it, sliding his hand up under his shirt, eyes closed as fingertips brush over it. Like ice next to silk. The skin's puckered around it, and there's something he doesn't quite like about the puckering and the redness. Lex looks up to catch her eyes following his fingers and he swallows hard, turning his head away.
She's crouching beside the bed and her hand reaches out to feel it, too. Lex likes to play with fire. He likes to watch the flames engulf everything that meant anything and push it away. Make it crumble to the ground so he can stomp his foot in the dust and ash, and pretend like it never mattered. His eyelids flutter shut, he can feel her hand shaking before the cool skin touches his own, his heart stops in his throat as she sighs, and pulls the hospital gown back over his side, and backs away like he's the freak he always thought he was. Lex opens his eyes and the door closes behind her.
How dare he. He taps his fingertips against each other, and it's like sparks shooting through his body. He can feel the heat at the tips of his toes and surging up his body. How fucking dare he play with fire.
Pairing: Uh, hint at Lex/Lana
Rated: PG-13/R
Notes: Um, post ep fic for 'Lexmas' I guess.
He likes to play with fire. Likes it even more when it explodes in his hands, and he gets to watch everyone else crawl around on their hands and knees to try and pick up the pieces. Anything to hide the mess that Lex Luthor's made.
She's pacing now, and pacing back and forth anxiously. Her hands are moving, and he can see her lips moving, but he raises an eyebrow as he leans back, smirking. Nothing really to say, nothing to do. She's mad, furious, actually. He can tell by the way she stops to twirl her hair around the tip of her finger, chew on the side of her lip and glare. He could sit up and she'd start pacing again.
How dare he. How dare he do that to Clark, to Mr. Kent.
He likes to play with fire, likes sitting at his desk, behind the heavy stained glass, behind all these heavy cement bricks. He likes to sit there and watch the granade that Griff's set off explode around him. He likes the very idea that he can walk away from the protection of his own four walls, and walk into disaster. It's like walking through fields of nothing, through yards of char and brokeness, and having that smug feeling in the center of his chest that when he walks away, he doesn't have to look back. He doesn't have to feel anything.
He wants to hit her. Hit her and hold her to his chest because it dawns on him that he'll never have what he dreamt. He knew that, he did this on purpose. He didn't want to have that, let her story end up like his mother's. She's so much more to him, to the world. Just hard enough for her head to snap back, see his hand print on the side of her face. He wants her to run away, because everyone he ever loved has died, and left him. He's never said the left him part because that shows vunerability. Like the breaking of his heart when Lana sits on the edge of the bed and pulls her knees to her chest, head resting against jeans as she closes her eyes. She's done.
How dare he hurt his friends.
He doesn't like the way she says that. His body moves different now, with the scar. It'll take a while for the tough skin to melt back into his own and he can start feeling less alien. But for now, it's just sort of there. He runs his fingers over and over it, sliding his hand up under his shirt, eyes closed as fingertips brush over it. Like ice next to silk. The skin's puckered around it, and there's something he doesn't quite like about the puckering and the redness. Lex looks up to catch her eyes following his fingers and he swallows hard, turning his head away.
She's crouching beside the bed and her hand reaches out to feel it, too. Lex likes to play with fire. He likes to watch the flames engulf everything that meant anything and push it away. Make it crumble to the ground so he can stomp his foot in the dust and ash, and pretend like it never mattered. His eyelids flutter shut, he can feel her hand shaking before the cool skin touches his own, his heart stops in his throat as she sighs, and pulls the hospital gown back over his side, and backs away like he's the freak he always thought he was. Lex opens his eyes and the door closes behind her.
How dare he. He taps his fingertips against each other, and it's like sparks shooting through his body. He can feel the heat at the tips of his toes and surging up his body. How fucking dare he play with fire.