In the Kingdom of Hope by Sori
Title: In the Kingdom of Hope
Pen Name: Sori
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rated: R, Futurefic
Word Count: 2500
Notes: Hugs to audrarose for the beta. *g*
Five years ago, Lex gave Clark Kryptonite for his birthday. Lex had walked in the front door of their penthouse pulling a small flatbed dolly with a plain metal lock box. Inside, ten lead boxes carefully packed away, all locked and meticulously sealed.
“How big are the rocks?” Clark had been very specific about the size he needed. He knew Lex would be exact, but the moment had called for Clark to say something, and the question seemed to be the most logical.
“They just fit in the boxes.” Voice flat and emotionless, but the wrinkles around Lex’s eyes were deeper, the color under his eyes more pronounced.
Clark had nodded his head and looked down at the boxes. Football size, maybe a little bigger. Big enough. He had expected nothing less.
“Clark,” Lex’s voice had broken and Clark closed the distance between them, closer and closer, until he pressed against Lex, their fingers touching and entwining at their sides.
Lex’s eyes had closed then, just before he wrapped his hand in Clark’s hair and pulled Clark’s head down. Lips touching, tongues stroking, until they both forgot that Clark’s death sat two feet away.
Lex fucked him that night, right there on the floor of the living room. In front of the door, next to Kryptonite, down the hall from the bedroom they had shared for 30 years. It was hard and fast and let them both remember that for now, Clark was indestructible.
If tears had fallen, Lex had pretended they weren’t his. Clark had pretended he believed that.
Clark had stopped aging 15 years ago. He’d woken on the morning of his 40th birthday and found a gray hair. It was near his temple, one lone strand of gray, easy to see amongst the dark brown. He never would’ve noticed if Lex hadn’t opened the shower door, letting the light reflect off the glass and onto the mirror.
He had smiled a bit, because gray hair gave him a peace of mind that he hadn’t yet been able to understand. He’d pulled it out, confidant that the gray would return. In a few years, he imagined that he could complain a bit to Lex about grays and hair dyes and grace in the face of vanity.
On his 45th birthday, he had woken, looked in the mirror and saw only the dark brown of his hair. No grays, no lightning of the roots. Just…solid brown, as plain and average as Clark Kent’s hair had been at 20.
He had started to worry.
Clark had started paying attention. A little more time in front of the mirror, a bit more careful examination of his face while he shaved. He’d thought it odd that he had never noticed his face looking the same at 45 as it had at 40. No new wrinkles, no new lines. Just smooth skin and hard edges.
He wondered what else he had missed.
“I’m not aging, am I?” He had asked Lex late one night while they lay in bed watching the news.
Lex had turned off the TV, tossed the remote on the floor near his side of the bed, and turned toward Clark. His hand had lifted and he carefully traced the not-so-much lines that bracketed Clark’s eyes. “No. Are you just noticing?”
Clark hadn’t been sure if he should feel stupid for missing the obvious or relieved that he wasn’t only imagining the worst. He’d let his head fall back on the pillows and said, “Yeah. This is…not good.”
Lex had rolled onto Clark, pulling down his boxers and kissing him hard. He’d made them both come with fast, rough strokes and harshly muttered curses in Clark’s ear. Not romantic, not soft, but real and honest in all the right ways.
When peace wasn’t possible, they had both learned to live with acceptance.
After that, 45 had been a bad year for Clark. Nightmares had started waking him during the little sleep he could find. All the normal nightmares that he’d had for years, gravestones in circles, faces - thousands of faces - of those he couldn’t save. Yet, it was the new nightmares that had stripped Clark of hope.
Years in the future, alone, Lex dead and buried, the world demanding Superman to save them, save them, save them for an eternity. Clark, alive and alone, and living forever. Superman trying to answer the pleas but sometimes forgetting that he was supposed to be saving the world and not trying to destroy himself.
The thousands of unsaved faces became millions, became billions, until Clark would wake screaming, clinging to Lex and begging Lex for one thing.
Ten years ago, Clark had started asking for Kryptonite. Ten pieces; big enough to kill within minutes, small enough to hide so that only Superman could find them. When he laid out the plan for Lex, he had spared no detail. Clark had never been a planner, never a tactician, but there were some things in life that couldn’t be left to chance.
Ten pieces in lead boxes spread out across their world. Indestructibility provided too many points of failure for his plan; just in case, he had to have multiple stones available. Eight pieces on Earth, two pieces on the moon, buried deep beneath the ground. It was his guarantee, his insurance against the unthinkable. When he had nothing else left, when every other option had failed, he would have the Kryptonite.
Clark did not intend to live forever. One lifetime was enough for any man.
Kryptonite wasn’t his first choice, of course. He couldn’t die as Superman on Earth without being dissected and studied and used; yet, dying in the cold expanse of space held no appeal. He wanted to die as he had lived, not as Superman, but as Clark Kent. He wanted a tombstone next to Lex, he wanted a memorial service attended by friends and family. He wanted normalcy at the end of a life that had been anything but normal.
It would be years before he’d ever have to use the Krytonite. Years before Lex would die and the world for Clark would change, before Clark would truly despair over thoughts of an eternity. For now, he wanted to live. He thought that someday a moment would come when he no longer needed to be Superman, when he could be content being just Clark Kent. This was a future he wanted.
It had taken them a while, but two years ago, they had finally been able to locate the Gold Kryptonite. They now had three pieces, hidden around the globe. So many unknowns, so much uncertainty, but it was the only chance for Clark to be human.
Clark had discovered that it was all in the planning. Ten pieces of Kryptonite, three pieces of Gold Kryptonite. Always there, always available, multiple choices and multiple possibilities. Such small things that made Clark feel in control of his own destiny.
He dreamed sometimes of those hidden spots. Mountains and deserts and beneath ocean floors - the location of all the pieces was Clark’s one truly coveted secret. Lex had never asked, nor had Clark ever told him where the rocks lie.
For a while, it’d been a point of silent contention. It reminded Clark vaguely of the years in Smallville - Lex knowing, Clark denying and somehow, still finding a way to live and love with secrets between them. Both had grown in the years since and at least now, they understood that secrets are not always about not trusting; sometimes they simply just are.
Four days ago, Clark woke in the early hours of the morning. He turned toward Lex, wrapped him in arms and legs, and held on tight. His dreams had become more vivid in recent times. Not the tragic, hounding faces of souls-not-saved but gentle, peaceful dreams of happy moments. Vacations; nights spent on the couch; moments in bed; memories not-yet-made with Lex. Dreams that had him waking with calm in his soul and hope in his future.
For too long, Clark had been waiting for dreams like these.
Lex woke that morning to see Clark staring at him with a smile. He’d laughed a little when Clark rolled on top, careful of older bones and a slower-to-react body. He’d kissed Lex, deep, hard kisses, with thrusting tongues and fierce concentration. His hands had moved across Lex’s body - familiar and thrilling and feeling like everything Clark had ever wanted in life. Clark had fucked Lex, slow, slower than ever before, and wondered how different it would feel when he was human.
The next day, Clark flew to a deep reef off the coast of Australia. He dug for thirty minutes before he finally hit the metal of the lead box. The box went inside his suit, a noticeable bulge along the smooth line of his chest. It was a numbing reminder that all things must end.
Clark had always assumed that this decision would be harsh and painful, filled with tragedy and indecision. He had imagined it would be a moment when he was distracted during a rescue, or possibly a moment when he failed to save someone because he was selfish. Perhaps, he would start to feel the thrill of true power or the wonder of total control. In the end, Clark had figured thought that the decision to kill Superman would be out of necessity for those he had vowed to protect.
As in many things, Clark now knows, he was wrong. Apparently, the decision hadn’t been that difficult after all.
The sun’s coming up and he hasn’t slept at all. He had spent the night roaming the penthouse, staring out the windows. He’d pulled on the suit and flew - fast and far and high, testing all the limits he had never tested before. The whipping air across his face, the speed and the exhilaration, freedom at its most basic. He almost couldn’t imagine living without this feeling.
Almost.
It had been a night filled with once more - once more to the moon, once more around the Earth, once more to save an innocent. Once more to be Superman. He had left the penthouse late and came back early, with the moon just starting to sink and the sun not yet starting to rise.
He had flown in through the unlocked balcony doors, taken off the suit and packed it away in a small black duffel. He’d added in the spare suits, cramming and pushing until the inside was nothing more than a jumble of vibrant red and blue. Clark had zipped the bag and tossed it by the door. A moment of regret, not a hint of hesitation.
Now, Lex is lying across their bed, sprawled from side to side. He’s always been a bed hog, and age has only made it worse. Clark has spent countless nights shoving Lex back onto his side, complaining about equality in all things, especially bed space. Lex has spent years grumbling something about superpowers and floating and indestructibility.
He walks over and sits carefully on the edge of the bed. One hand comes out to softly stroke Lex’s shoulder, still strong and muscled and looking so much younger than his years. Clark can just see the four freckles right below Lex’s nipple, not quite covered by the bed sheets. He traces them softly with one hand while reaching for the small cell phone that rests on the bedside table.
Phone to his ear, softly saying, “Speed Number 4,” he waits and lets the phone dial.
Lex’s breathing is slow and regular, the soft snores that usually accompany his sleep noticeably absent.
Clark hears the phone connecting and the line being answered with a curt, “Wayne.”
“I need a ride later on today.”
“Somewhere specific, Kent?”
“Yeah. I’m going to need a ride home from the Fortress.” Clark watches as Lex’s chest hitches. The freckles move a bit when the muscles beneath clench. “There’s going to be two of us. Can you help me out?”
Although this too is part of Clark’s plan, they review the details once more since there’s no room for error. The conversation is about specifics, no random small talk, no friendly how are you. Clark is surprised when Bruce asks, “This is it then? Are you sure?”
It’s a fair question, and Clark takes a moment and gives it thought. Peace and comfort and good dreams; soaring in the stars and the whistle in the air at the speed of sound; power and strength and saving the masses; perfect health and forever plus a day.
Lex, and life, and possibility -
Clark says, “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Tossing the phone feels like the freedom of flying - no limits and out-of-control, possibilities for something the same, yet all new and different.
“Were you going to tell me?” Steel in Lex’s voice that makes Clark remember why half the free world either fears or reveres Lex.
“I just did.” Clark shakes his head at Lex’s grunt. “You don’t think I know when you’re faking sleep? Please.”
Clark kicks his feet up on the bed, and moves until his head shares Lex’s pillow. “Lex…,” somehow Clark can’t think of what to say, how to explain, how to make sense of a decision that he doesn’t entirely understand. It just feels right seems like a wholly inadequate explanation. Lex deserves something more.
“Fuck. Clark, I need something here. I have to know…,” and Lex rolls over, pinning Clark to the bed, and grinding his body down. He stares hard at Clark’s eyes and Clark realizes he’s looking for answers.
Clark shivers. Soon, when Lex rolls over and pins Clark, it won’t be the illusion it is now; tomorrow Clark may not be strong enough to push Lex away. They will be equal in this, well-matched, and the only control they’ll have over each other, will be the control they are willing to give.
Clark wonders how that’ll feel, and then he wonders why he thinks that will somehow be different.
“I woke up happy.” Out of all the answers, that may be the one Lex can understand best.
Yet, it’s obviously not what he is expecting Clark to say. Lex’s eyes go wide and Clark always loves it when he can surprise Lex enough to lose the controlled expressions on his face.
“You woke up happy. And that’s it? Gold Kryptonite shows up in our bedroom because you’re - happy.”
“Yeah.”
Lex lifts his hands and winds them through Clark’s hair, pulling hard enough that even Clark feels a twinge. He leans over and trails his tongue along Clark’s shoulder, biting a bit - hard, so hard, harder than he’ll be able to bite tomorrow - before resting his forehead against Clark’s.
“You know, I think I’m going to miss the floating sex.”
Clark chokes back laughter, proving that once again Lex can still surprise him after a lifetime together. He wraps his arms around Lex’s shoulder, legs around his waist, before he floats them both up off the bed. A few inches, a few feet, he doesn’t know. They’re not hitting the ceiling so it doesn’t really matter.
“Hell, yeah,” before Lex’s mouth is on his, tongue inside, nasty and wet and wild. Rough lips but gentle hands and Clark never fails to be amazed at how Lex can kiss with so many parts of his personality.
Between the kisses, Lex is speaking, whispered words in his ear that even Clark can’t quite understand It doesn’t seem important to listen, he just lets himself sink into the cadence of Lex’s voice, rough and velvety, a contradiction of sound. He kisses back and imagines mornings like this for years to come.
Lex smiles at him, and the smile is complete - eyes and lips, with nothing held back. It’s a good look on him. Clark realizes that it just feels right may just be the most perfect of all explanations.
I probably should mention that the title comes from the Russian proverb: In the kingdom of hope there is no winter. *bg*
Pen Name: Sori
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rated: R, Futurefic
Word Count: 2500
Notes: Hugs to audrarose for the beta. *g*
Five years ago, Lex gave Clark Kryptonite for his birthday. Lex had walked in the front door of their penthouse pulling a small flatbed dolly with a plain metal lock box. Inside, ten lead boxes carefully packed away, all locked and meticulously sealed.
“How big are the rocks?” Clark had been very specific about the size he needed. He knew Lex would be exact, but the moment had called for Clark to say something, and the question seemed to be the most logical.
“They just fit in the boxes.” Voice flat and emotionless, but the wrinkles around Lex’s eyes were deeper, the color under his eyes more pronounced.
Clark had nodded his head and looked down at the boxes. Football size, maybe a little bigger. Big enough. He had expected nothing less.
“Clark,” Lex’s voice had broken and Clark closed the distance between them, closer and closer, until he pressed against Lex, their fingers touching and entwining at their sides.
Lex’s eyes had closed then, just before he wrapped his hand in Clark’s hair and pulled Clark’s head down. Lips touching, tongues stroking, until they both forgot that Clark’s death sat two feet away.
Lex fucked him that night, right there on the floor of the living room. In front of the door, next to Kryptonite, down the hall from the bedroom they had shared for 30 years. It was hard and fast and let them both remember that for now, Clark was indestructible.
If tears had fallen, Lex had pretended they weren’t his. Clark had pretended he believed that.
Clark had stopped aging 15 years ago. He’d woken on the morning of his 40th birthday and found a gray hair. It was near his temple, one lone strand of gray, easy to see amongst the dark brown. He never would’ve noticed if Lex hadn’t opened the shower door, letting the light reflect off the glass and onto the mirror.
He had smiled a bit, because gray hair gave him a peace of mind that he hadn’t yet been able to understand. He’d pulled it out, confidant that the gray would return. In a few years, he imagined that he could complain a bit to Lex about grays and hair dyes and grace in the face of vanity.
On his 45th birthday, he had woken, looked in the mirror and saw only the dark brown of his hair. No grays, no lightning of the roots. Just…solid brown, as plain and average as Clark Kent’s hair had been at 20.
He had started to worry.
Clark had started paying attention. A little more time in front of the mirror, a bit more careful examination of his face while he shaved. He’d thought it odd that he had never noticed his face looking the same at 45 as it had at 40. No new wrinkles, no new lines. Just smooth skin and hard edges.
He wondered what else he had missed.
“I’m not aging, am I?” He had asked Lex late one night while they lay in bed watching the news.
Lex had turned off the TV, tossed the remote on the floor near his side of the bed, and turned toward Clark. His hand had lifted and he carefully traced the not-so-much lines that bracketed Clark’s eyes. “No. Are you just noticing?”
Clark hadn’t been sure if he should feel stupid for missing the obvious or relieved that he wasn’t only imagining the worst. He’d let his head fall back on the pillows and said, “Yeah. This is…not good.”
Lex had rolled onto Clark, pulling down his boxers and kissing him hard. He’d made them both come with fast, rough strokes and harshly muttered curses in Clark’s ear. Not romantic, not soft, but real and honest in all the right ways.
When peace wasn’t possible, they had both learned to live with acceptance.
After that, 45 had been a bad year for Clark. Nightmares had started waking him during the little sleep he could find. All the normal nightmares that he’d had for years, gravestones in circles, faces - thousands of faces - of those he couldn’t save. Yet, it was the new nightmares that had stripped Clark of hope.
Years in the future, alone, Lex dead and buried, the world demanding Superman to save them, save them, save them for an eternity. Clark, alive and alone, and living forever. Superman trying to answer the pleas but sometimes forgetting that he was supposed to be saving the world and not trying to destroy himself.
The thousands of unsaved faces became millions, became billions, until Clark would wake screaming, clinging to Lex and begging Lex for one thing.
Ten years ago, Clark had started asking for Kryptonite. Ten pieces; big enough to kill within minutes, small enough to hide so that only Superman could find them. When he laid out the plan for Lex, he had spared no detail. Clark had never been a planner, never a tactician, but there were some things in life that couldn’t be left to chance.
Ten pieces in lead boxes spread out across their world. Indestructibility provided too many points of failure for his plan; just in case, he had to have multiple stones available. Eight pieces on Earth, two pieces on the moon, buried deep beneath the ground. It was his guarantee, his insurance against the unthinkable. When he had nothing else left, when every other option had failed, he would have the Kryptonite.
Clark did not intend to live forever. One lifetime was enough for any man.
Kryptonite wasn’t his first choice, of course. He couldn’t die as Superman on Earth without being dissected and studied and used; yet, dying in the cold expanse of space held no appeal. He wanted to die as he had lived, not as Superman, but as Clark Kent. He wanted a tombstone next to Lex, he wanted a memorial service attended by friends and family. He wanted normalcy at the end of a life that had been anything but normal.
It would be years before he’d ever have to use the Krytonite. Years before Lex would die and the world for Clark would change, before Clark would truly despair over thoughts of an eternity. For now, he wanted to live. He thought that someday a moment would come when he no longer needed to be Superman, when he could be content being just Clark Kent. This was a future he wanted.
It had taken them a while, but two years ago, they had finally been able to locate the Gold Kryptonite. They now had three pieces, hidden around the globe. So many unknowns, so much uncertainty, but it was the only chance for Clark to be human.
Clark had discovered that it was all in the planning. Ten pieces of Kryptonite, three pieces of Gold Kryptonite. Always there, always available, multiple choices and multiple possibilities. Such small things that made Clark feel in control of his own destiny.
He dreamed sometimes of those hidden spots. Mountains and deserts and beneath ocean floors - the location of all the pieces was Clark’s one truly coveted secret. Lex had never asked, nor had Clark ever told him where the rocks lie.
For a while, it’d been a point of silent contention. It reminded Clark vaguely of the years in Smallville - Lex knowing, Clark denying and somehow, still finding a way to live and love with secrets between them. Both had grown in the years since and at least now, they understood that secrets are not always about not trusting; sometimes they simply just are.
Four days ago, Clark woke in the early hours of the morning. He turned toward Lex, wrapped him in arms and legs, and held on tight. His dreams had become more vivid in recent times. Not the tragic, hounding faces of souls-not-saved but gentle, peaceful dreams of happy moments. Vacations; nights spent on the couch; moments in bed; memories not-yet-made with Lex. Dreams that had him waking with calm in his soul and hope in his future.
For too long, Clark had been waiting for dreams like these.
Lex woke that morning to see Clark staring at him with a smile. He’d laughed a little when Clark rolled on top, careful of older bones and a slower-to-react body. He’d kissed Lex, deep, hard kisses, with thrusting tongues and fierce concentration. His hands had moved across Lex’s body - familiar and thrilling and feeling like everything Clark had ever wanted in life. Clark had fucked Lex, slow, slower than ever before, and wondered how different it would feel when he was human.
The next day, Clark flew to a deep reef off the coast of Australia. He dug for thirty minutes before he finally hit the metal of the lead box. The box went inside his suit, a noticeable bulge along the smooth line of his chest. It was a numbing reminder that all things must end.
Clark had always assumed that this decision would be harsh and painful, filled with tragedy and indecision. He had imagined it would be a moment when he was distracted during a rescue, or possibly a moment when he failed to save someone because he was selfish. Perhaps, he would start to feel the thrill of true power or the wonder of total control. In the end, Clark had figured thought that the decision to kill Superman would be out of necessity for those he had vowed to protect.
As in many things, Clark now knows, he was wrong. Apparently, the decision hadn’t been that difficult after all.
The sun’s coming up and he hasn’t slept at all. He had spent the night roaming the penthouse, staring out the windows. He’d pulled on the suit and flew - fast and far and high, testing all the limits he had never tested before. The whipping air across his face, the speed and the exhilaration, freedom at its most basic. He almost couldn’t imagine living without this feeling.
Almost.
It had been a night filled with once more - once more to the moon, once more around the Earth, once more to save an innocent. Once more to be Superman. He had left the penthouse late and came back early, with the moon just starting to sink and the sun not yet starting to rise.
He had flown in through the unlocked balcony doors, taken off the suit and packed it away in a small black duffel. He’d added in the spare suits, cramming and pushing until the inside was nothing more than a jumble of vibrant red and blue. Clark had zipped the bag and tossed it by the door. A moment of regret, not a hint of hesitation.
Now, Lex is lying across their bed, sprawled from side to side. He’s always been a bed hog, and age has only made it worse. Clark has spent countless nights shoving Lex back onto his side, complaining about equality in all things, especially bed space. Lex has spent years grumbling something about superpowers and floating and indestructibility.
He walks over and sits carefully on the edge of the bed. One hand comes out to softly stroke Lex’s shoulder, still strong and muscled and looking so much younger than his years. Clark can just see the four freckles right below Lex’s nipple, not quite covered by the bed sheets. He traces them softly with one hand while reaching for the small cell phone that rests on the bedside table.
Phone to his ear, softly saying, “Speed Number 4,” he waits and lets the phone dial.
Lex’s breathing is slow and regular, the soft snores that usually accompany his sleep noticeably absent.
Clark hears the phone connecting and the line being answered with a curt, “Wayne.”
“I need a ride later on today.”
“Somewhere specific, Kent?”
“Yeah. I’m going to need a ride home from the Fortress.” Clark watches as Lex’s chest hitches. The freckles move a bit when the muscles beneath clench. “There’s going to be two of us. Can you help me out?”
Although this too is part of Clark’s plan, they review the details once more since there’s no room for error. The conversation is about specifics, no random small talk, no friendly how are you. Clark is surprised when Bruce asks, “This is it then? Are you sure?”
It’s a fair question, and Clark takes a moment and gives it thought. Peace and comfort and good dreams; soaring in the stars and the whistle in the air at the speed of sound; power and strength and saving the masses; perfect health and forever plus a day.
Lex, and life, and possibility -
Clark says, “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Tossing the phone feels like the freedom of flying - no limits and out-of-control, possibilities for something the same, yet all new and different.
“Were you going to tell me?” Steel in Lex’s voice that makes Clark remember why half the free world either fears or reveres Lex.
“I just did.” Clark shakes his head at Lex’s grunt. “You don’t think I know when you’re faking sleep? Please.”
Clark kicks his feet up on the bed, and moves until his head shares Lex’s pillow. “Lex…,” somehow Clark can’t think of what to say, how to explain, how to make sense of a decision that he doesn’t entirely understand. It just feels right seems like a wholly inadequate explanation. Lex deserves something more.
“Fuck. Clark, I need something here. I have to know…,” and Lex rolls over, pinning Clark to the bed, and grinding his body down. He stares hard at Clark’s eyes and Clark realizes he’s looking for answers.
Clark shivers. Soon, when Lex rolls over and pins Clark, it won’t be the illusion it is now; tomorrow Clark may not be strong enough to push Lex away. They will be equal in this, well-matched, and the only control they’ll have over each other, will be the control they are willing to give.
Clark wonders how that’ll feel, and then he wonders why he thinks that will somehow be different.
“I woke up happy.” Out of all the answers, that may be the one Lex can understand best.
Yet, it’s obviously not what he is expecting Clark to say. Lex’s eyes go wide and Clark always loves it when he can surprise Lex enough to lose the controlled expressions on his face.
“You woke up happy. And that’s it? Gold Kryptonite shows up in our bedroom because you’re - happy.”
“Yeah.”
Lex lifts his hands and winds them through Clark’s hair, pulling hard enough that even Clark feels a twinge. He leans over and trails his tongue along Clark’s shoulder, biting a bit - hard, so hard, harder than he’ll be able to bite tomorrow - before resting his forehead against Clark’s.
“You know, I think I’m going to miss the floating sex.”
Clark chokes back laughter, proving that once again Lex can still surprise him after a lifetime together. He wraps his arms around Lex’s shoulder, legs around his waist, before he floats them both up off the bed. A few inches, a few feet, he doesn’t know. They’re not hitting the ceiling so it doesn’t really matter.
“Hell, yeah,” before Lex’s mouth is on his, tongue inside, nasty and wet and wild. Rough lips but gentle hands and Clark never fails to be amazed at how Lex can kiss with so many parts of his personality.
Between the kisses, Lex is speaking, whispered words in his ear that even Clark can’t quite understand It doesn’t seem important to listen, he just lets himself sink into the cadence of Lex’s voice, rough and velvety, a contradiction of sound. He kisses back and imagines mornings like this for years to come.
Lex smiles at him, and the smile is complete - eyes and lips, with nothing held back. It’s a good look on him. Clark realizes that it just feels right may just be the most perfect of all explanations.
I probably should mention that the title comes from the Russian proverb: In the kingdom of hope there is no winter. *bg*