SV FIC: Red Roofie (Happy MPreg Day!)
Title: Red Roofie
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating: R
Summary: Apparently it's not just in after school specials that one mistake can change your whole life.
Notes: How could I not join in the celebration of MPreg day? That odd fandom genre, pure comedic gold. I really intended to write something funny, but then Clark was all pathetic and waif-like the way Clark just will be sometimes, so it came out more "Fifteen and Pregnant." Oops! *g* I also wanted to write a preggo!Rodney thing, because that, now that is the comedy, but then I had actual work to do at work. Maybe I'll write it tomorrow as a kind of MPreg day hangover.
Warning: I don't think this is a non-con story, but you might. So read at your own risk.
***
Red Roofie
by Lenore
Life really wasn't supposed to be an after-school special. This thought ran through Clark's head every time he struggled to zip up his jeans, something that was more of a challenge with each passing day. Those little morality tales were always so ridiculous, the premise so predictable, about some kid who'd done the right thing his whole life, studied hard and got good grades and was nice to old ladies, only to make one tragically shortsighted decision that ruined everything. Life is a tightrope seemed to be the take-away message. And that couldn't be right. Only apparently it was, if Clark's own misadventures were any indication.
He tried not to be bitter, not very successfully, that the one fraternity party he'd gone to the entire time he'd been in college had started all his troubles. He should have just headed to the library that Friday like he'd done every other Friday before, but when his hallmates started in with their usual weekend litany of "Kent, stop being such a geek" something in him finally snapped and he said yes. The way they'd stared at him, all slack-jawed and befuddled, had seemed incredibly satisfying at the time, although for the life of him now he couldn't imagine why he'd ever cared.
The party was at one of the houses on Fraternity Row, he couldn't even remember which. They all seemed so interchangeable to him, old brick buildings with white columns that had once been stately, now with beer bongs on their porches and trash strewn over the lawns. It was loud inside, hot and crowded, and Clark's hallmates scattered almost immediately, going in search of booze and girls, leaving him to flounder on his own.
He wasn't even looking for the bar, parties just seemed to exert a weird sort of gravity that way, and suddenly a red-faced blonde boy was pressing a cup into his hand.
"Rum and Jewel," the boy said, slurring his words.
The drink was dark red and sparkling. Clark took a sip and got a shimmery feeling all through his body, and really that should have been a warning, but who could think straight when they were shimmery? Clark kept going back for more Rum and Jewels, and the party passed in a blur of indistinct faces and the overwhelming conviction that he was the happiest person on earth.
How he got from there to the gay sex club was not at all clear, although he did have the dim recollection of huddling in a corner of the fraternity house, a male body pressed against his back, a hand stroking over the fly of his pants, raspy voice in his ear, "I know exactly the place for you."
The club was moodily lit, and all the pictures in Clark's head from the rest of the evening were grainy, vague, memories stored mostly as physical sensation, voices murmuring appreciatively, hands pulling at his clothes, his head spinning, reaching out to try to steady himself, fingers connecting with a hard, wet cock, finding what he didn't even know he'd been looking for. Then the hands were back again, pressing against his shoulders, urging him down, opening him up, filling him, giving him what he'd never realized he'd wanted, man after man, again and again.
He'd woken up the next day in his own bed, his clothes on inside out, plastered to his sticky skin, a night-before taste lingering in his mouth. He'd expected his hallmates to tease him, but they steered clear, wouldn't even meet his eyes. Two days afterwards, he read in the newspaper about the massive recall of Jewel soda, made from sparkling water whose source had been contaminated by red meteor rocks. A week later, Clark started throwing up. At three weeks, the AI made the diagnosis.
I'm knocked up, and I don't even know who the father is. God, I'm a slut. He shouldered his backpack and headed off to class and tried not to think about it anymore. Regret wasn't going to change anything.
Wednesday was his busiest school day, with classes stacked one after the next from ten in the morning to dinnertime. The only chance he had to grab lunch was if Professor Peterman didn't keep them past the bell in Medieval History, which he did today as he almost always did, and by the time Clark was leaving Ethical Dilemmas in Contemporary Journalism for Buddhist Painting, he was feeling kind of light-headed.
As he was starting toward the stairs that led to the art building a quiet "Clark" made him turn around. There stood Lex, looking as imperial as always, and, even worse, like he was in the mood to talk.
"I have class," Clark said stonily.
"You look like you're about to fall over."
"I'm fine," Clark insisted, although the edges of his vision were starting to flicker. "And I'm going to be late. And what do you care anyway?"
He took a step past Lex, and his legs had to pick that moment to wobble. It started to go dark in his head--he guessed that must be what it felt like to pass out--and then there was a hand under his elbow, firmly maneuvering him.
"When was the last time you ate, Clark? You really shouldn't be skipping meals."
Lex steered him over to the car, and Clark knew there were so many reasons why he shouldn't let Lex commandeer him this way, but he was too tired to do anything but slump in the passenger seat, eyes closed, as Lex drove him home. At the dorm, he made a weak protest that he didn't need any help getting inside, but Lex got out and took his arm again. It was easier just to give in.
In his room, Clark sank onto the floor, back against the bed. His hands were shaking he was so suddenly weak, and his head had started to spin again. He could feel Lex moving around the room, hear him talking, but it took too much effort to pay actual attention to what he was doing. Lex snapped his phone closed, there was rustling, and then he knelt down beside Clark.
"Here." He pushed a bottle of water into Clark's hand, the only thing he would have found in the refrigerator.
Clark drank it. Someone knocked at the door a short time later, and Lex went to asnwer it, and the scent of Chinese food unfurled in the room. Lex sat down opposite Clark and set out containers and paper plates. Clark automatically picked up his fork, but then he realized. It wasn't like they were friends anymore, and he had no idea why Lex was even here. He darted a wary glance at him.
"Just eat your food, Clark," Lex told him mildly.
There were spare ribs and cashew chicken and vegetable lo mien, all Clark's favorites, and that made his throat hurt a little bit, but he was too hungry to let that stop him from finishing everything. Afterwards, Lex cleaned up and even took out the trash, and Clark kept expecting him to go, but he didn't.
Instead, he knelt down again and gave Clark a long, measuring look. "You have to let someone help you." Before Clark could even start to pretend, Lex held up a hand. "I know, Clark. All of it. So let's not waste time with denials."
Under normal circumstances, Clark would have insisted hotly that he had no idea what Lex was talking about it, but nothing was normal now, least of all him. He wrapped his arms around himself and didn't answer and wouldn't look at Lex.
"I know I've given you reasons not to trust me." There was something almost like sorrow in his voice. "But please believe that I would never let anyone hurt you. Or the baby."
Clark flinched at the word. "How do you know about that?"
"Just because we're not friends anymore doesn't mean I'm not interested in your life and your well-being."
Clark's head snapped up angrily. "That's spying."
Lex shrugged, unchastened. "It's the only recourse I have these days. And I'm very discreet. So you don't have to be concerned that anyone else will ever find out."
Clark let out his breath heavily. "What do you want, Lex?"
"Probably more than I can have. But right now," he touched Clark's face gently, "I'd settle for having you look a little less like the world was ending."
Lex's fingers were reassuringly cool on his skin, and there was a time when Clark truly believed that Lex could fix anything. Unfortunately, that time had long since passed.
"I got accidentally roofied at a party, and ended up at a sex club, and got fucked by every guy there, I'm guessing, not that I actually remember, and I have no idea who the father is, and I don't know how I'm even supposed to have a baby, and I don’t know how to tell my mother." His voice broke. "How is everything not ruined, Lex?"
"Clark."
Lex reached for him, and under different circumstances, Clark wouldn't have allowed it, but he needed something right now, so he lay his head on Lex's shoulder and closed his eyes.
"It's going to be okay, Clark. Everything's going to be okay." He stroked Clark's hair. "I'll take care of you and the baby. You don't have to worry about anything."
"This isn't a soap opera," he mumbled against Lex's shoulder, "and I'm not your pregnant girlfriend."
"But you are pregnant, and I'd like it if we could be friends again." He pulled back, kissed Clark on the forehead. "Think about it."
He got to his feet, and Clark stared up at him in confusion. "That's it?" Nothing with Lex was ever this simple.
"For now. When you're ready, we can talk about some arrangements to make your life easier. And," Lex chose his words carefully, "consider the medical issues. Get some rest, and I'll have my doctor call your professors and give them an excuse why you weren't in class."
He started to the door, and it felt almost nostalgic to Clark to say, "Thanks for helping me, Lex."
Lex smiled. "Thanks for letting me, Clark."
***
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating: R
Summary: Apparently it's not just in after school specials that one mistake can change your whole life.
Notes: How could I not join in the celebration of MPreg day? That odd fandom genre, pure comedic gold. I really intended to write something funny, but then Clark was all pathetic and waif-like the way Clark just will be sometimes, so it came out more "Fifteen and Pregnant." Oops! *g* I also wanted to write a preggo!Rodney thing, because that, now that is the comedy, but then I had actual work to do at work. Maybe I'll write it tomorrow as a kind of MPreg day hangover.
Warning: I don't think this is a non-con story, but you might. So read at your own risk.
***
Red Roofie
by Lenore
Life really wasn't supposed to be an after-school special. This thought ran through Clark's head every time he struggled to zip up his jeans, something that was more of a challenge with each passing day. Those little morality tales were always so ridiculous, the premise so predictable, about some kid who'd done the right thing his whole life, studied hard and got good grades and was nice to old ladies, only to make one tragically shortsighted decision that ruined everything. Life is a tightrope seemed to be the take-away message. And that couldn't be right. Only apparently it was, if Clark's own misadventures were any indication.
He tried not to be bitter, not very successfully, that the one fraternity party he'd gone to the entire time he'd been in college had started all his troubles. He should have just headed to the library that Friday like he'd done every other Friday before, but when his hallmates started in with their usual weekend litany of "Kent, stop being such a geek" something in him finally snapped and he said yes. The way they'd stared at him, all slack-jawed and befuddled, had seemed incredibly satisfying at the time, although for the life of him now he couldn't imagine why he'd ever cared.
The party was at one of the houses on Fraternity Row, he couldn't even remember which. They all seemed so interchangeable to him, old brick buildings with white columns that had once been stately, now with beer bongs on their porches and trash strewn over the lawns. It was loud inside, hot and crowded, and Clark's hallmates scattered almost immediately, going in search of booze and girls, leaving him to flounder on his own.
He wasn't even looking for the bar, parties just seemed to exert a weird sort of gravity that way, and suddenly a red-faced blonde boy was pressing a cup into his hand.
"Rum and Jewel," the boy said, slurring his words.
The drink was dark red and sparkling. Clark took a sip and got a shimmery feeling all through his body, and really that should have been a warning, but who could think straight when they were shimmery? Clark kept going back for more Rum and Jewels, and the party passed in a blur of indistinct faces and the overwhelming conviction that he was the happiest person on earth.
How he got from there to the gay sex club was not at all clear, although he did have the dim recollection of huddling in a corner of the fraternity house, a male body pressed against his back, a hand stroking over the fly of his pants, raspy voice in his ear, "I know exactly the place for you."
The club was moodily lit, and all the pictures in Clark's head from the rest of the evening were grainy, vague, memories stored mostly as physical sensation, voices murmuring appreciatively, hands pulling at his clothes, his head spinning, reaching out to try to steady himself, fingers connecting with a hard, wet cock, finding what he didn't even know he'd been looking for. Then the hands were back again, pressing against his shoulders, urging him down, opening him up, filling him, giving him what he'd never realized he'd wanted, man after man, again and again.
He'd woken up the next day in his own bed, his clothes on inside out, plastered to his sticky skin, a night-before taste lingering in his mouth. He'd expected his hallmates to tease him, but they steered clear, wouldn't even meet his eyes. Two days afterwards, he read in the newspaper about the massive recall of Jewel soda, made from sparkling water whose source had been contaminated by red meteor rocks. A week later, Clark started throwing up. At three weeks, the AI made the diagnosis.
I'm knocked up, and I don't even know who the father is. God, I'm a slut. He shouldered his backpack and headed off to class and tried not to think about it anymore. Regret wasn't going to change anything.
Wednesday was his busiest school day, with classes stacked one after the next from ten in the morning to dinnertime. The only chance he had to grab lunch was if Professor Peterman didn't keep them past the bell in Medieval History, which he did today as he almost always did, and by the time Clark was leaving Ethical Dilemmas in Contemporary Journalism for Buddhist Painting, he was feeling kind of light-headed.
As he was starting toward the stairs that led to the art building a quiet "Clark" made him turn around. There stood Lex, looking as imperial as always, and, even worse, like he was in the mood to talk.
"I have class," Clark said stonily.
"You look like you're about to fall over."
"I'm fine," Clark insisted, although the edges of his vision were starting to flicker. "And I'm going to be late. And what do you care anyway?"
He took a step past Lex, and his legs had to pick that moment to wobble. It started to go dark in his head--he guessed that must be what it felt like to pass out--and then there was a hand under his elbow, firmly maneuvering him.
"When was the last time you ate, Clark? You really shouldn't be skipping meals."
Lex steered him over to the car, and Clark knew there were so many reasons why he shouldn't let Lex commandeer him this way, but he was too tired to do anything but slump in the passenger seat, eyes closed, as Lex drove him home. At the dorm, he made a weak protest that he didn't need any help getting inside, but Lex got out and took his arm again. It was easier just to give in.
In his room, Clark sank onto the floor, back against the bed. His hands were shaking he was so suddenly weak, and his head had started to spin again. He could feel Lex moving around the room, hear him talking, but it took too much effort to pay actual attention to what he was doing. Lex snapped his phone closed, there was rustling, and then he knelt down beside Clark.
"Here." He pushed a bottle of water into Clark's hand, the only thing he would have found in the refrigerator.
Clark drank it. Someone knocked at the door a short time later, and Lex went to asnwer it, and the scent of Chinese food unfurled in the room. Lex sat down opposite Clark and set out containers and paper plates. Clark automatically picked up his fork, but then he realized. It wasn't like they were friends anymore, and he had no idea why Lex was even here. He darted a wary glance at him.
"Just eat your food, Clark," Lex told him mildly.
There were spare ribs and cashew chicken and vegetable lo mien, all Clark's favorites, and that made his throat hurt a little bit, but he was too hungry to let that stop him from finishing everything. Afterwards, Lex cleaned up and even took out the trash, and Clark kept expecting him to go, but he didn't.
Instead, he knelt down again and gave Clark a long, measuring look. "You have to let someone help you." Before Clark could even start to pretend, Lex held up a hand. "I know, Clark. All of it. So let's not waste time with denials."
Under normal circumstances, Clark would have insisted hotly that he had no idea what Lex was talking about it, but nothing was normal now, least of all him. He wrapped his arms around himself and didn't answer and wouldn't look at Lex.
"I know I've given you reasons not to trust me." There was something almost like sorrow in his voice. "But please believe that I would never let anyone hurt you. Or the baby."
Clark flinched at the word. "How do you know about that?"
"Just because we're not friends anymore doesn't mean I'm not interested in your life and your well-being."
Clark's head snapped up angrily. "That's spying."
Lex shrugged, unchastened. "It's the only recourse I have these days. And I'm very discreet. So you don't have to be concerned that anyone else will ever find out."
Clark let out his breath heavily. "What do you want, Lex?"
"Probably more than I can have. But right now," he touched Clark's face gently, "I'd settle for having you look a little less like the world was ending."
Lex's fingers were reassuringly cool on his skin, and there was a time when Clark truly believed that Lex could fix anything. Unfortunately, that time had long since passed.
"I got accidentally roofied at a party, and ended up at a sex club, and got fucked by every guy there, I'm guessing, not that I actually remember, and I have no idea who the father is, and I don't know how I'm even supposed to have a baby, and I don’t know how to tell my mother." His voice broke. "How is everything not ruined, Lex?"
"Clark."
Lex reached for him, and under different circumstances, Clark wouldn't have allowed it, but he needed something right now, so he lay his head on Lex's shoulder and closed his eyes.
"It's going to be okay, Clark. Everything's going to be okay." He stroked Clark's hair. "I'll take care of you and the baby. You don't have to worry about anything."
"This isn't a soap opera," he mumbled against Lex's shoulder, "and I'm not your pregnant girlfriend."
"But you are pregnant, and I'd like it if we could be friends again." He pulled back, kissed Clark on the forehead. "Think about it."
He got to his feet, and Clark stared up at him in confusion. "That's it?" Nothing with Lex was ever this simple.
"For now. When you're ready, we can talk about some arrangements to make your life easier. And," Lex chose his words carefully, "consider the medical issues. Get some rest, and I'll have my doctor call your professors and give them an excuse why you weren't in class."
He started to the door, and it felt almost nostalgic to Clark to say, "Thanks for helping me, Lex."
Lex smiled. "Thanks for letting me, Clark."
***