Disclaimer: The following piece of writing is a fantasy. It never happened. It has nothing to do with Smallville or the CW or any of the creators of any of the permutations of the characters mentioned. It is no different than writing down a dream I had about a TV show in my dream journal and then sharing that dream journal with my friends via an LJ post. It is no different than talking in a public forum about how much better a movie would have been if it had ended a different way than it did and then lining out that different way. I don't make money from my fantasies, nor any other gain but to hear what other people of like mind think of said fantasies. And no one has domain over my fantasies nor how I choose to express them.
Feedback: Only if you're honest. Chocolate and champagne are always nice, but only if it's honest chocolate and champagne. I'm a sucker for good constructive criticism.
Warnings: Intimate boy/boy interaction. Lexcentric. This series veers AU from Prodigal. Henceforth, canon will be cherry picked through at my leisure.
Sequels: First in the "Manual Transmission" series (MTS). The next in this continuing series is "Stuck in Second Gear." Link at the bottom.
Spoilers: Prodigal.
Summary: Takes place during the events of Prodigal. Lex is staying with the Kents and, as we know, there is no guest room...
Shift byline: bipolypesca creation date: September 30/October 1, 2005
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Lex was terrified.
This eventuality had never been his intention. This was not some dastardly plan, some nefarious ulterior motive, some evil alternate intent. If any fault was his, it should be placed squarely and solely on his subconscious mind—his unconscious mind.
Logically, of course, he could see how it had happened: The room was cold, the blanket thin, his lack of body hair distressing. It was only logical that he should seek heat in his sleep. Seek this furnace. Envelop it. Make it his own.
The cold had since left him. By all rights he should have been comfortable, satisfied, satiated. But waking up to find himself wrapped tightly around Clark Kent's long, warm, incredibly well-developed body; to find one of his arms wrapped behind the boy's head and pushing his face into Lex's neck, the other around his waist; to find their legs tangled together; to find two warm, strong arms holding Lex securely around the waist in sleep—all of this had certainly been enough to embarrass him.
The unexpected and unreasonably warm hardness nudging up into his ballsac was enough to give him pause, then worry him for its possible consequences.
But the paralyzing fear he felt now had not finally come until Clark's breathing had suddenly changed and made Lex painfully aware that he had awoken.
That had occurred fully five minutes ago. No part of the situation had changed since. Lex didn't think he knew how to change it. He thought perhaps it never would be any different than it was right now.
Perhaps they would be forever locked in this terrifying embrace, each waiting for the other to speak, to move. Waiting for eternity for change.
Future and past faded away from him. All he had was the present, the hardness, the warmth, and his heart pounding in fear.
Perhaps it should have frightened him further that Clark's heart was throbbing back at him in much the same way, and yet he made no motion to push Lex away or check his state of sleep or waking. For this, Lex believed Clark must already know. There were no physical secrets here. Only what each held inside his own mind was mystery to the other.
Lex was far too frightened to be physically excited by this—by anything—and found himself wondering if that worried or insulted Clark, while at the same time, he illogically fretted about how angry Clark must surely be to find Lex holding him like this without permission, taking advantage of the hospitality of his bed by touching what Lex was never meant to touch.
Now nearly ten minutes had gone by since Clark's breathing had changed. The silence was so loud, the pressure on his ears unbearable. He had to speak.
"clarkimsorry," he rushed in a mumble.
"itsokay," was thrown back at him just as quickly, just as run together.
No one moved.
"It was cold."
"It gets like that in here sometimes."
Clark's words were muffled into Lex's chest, and it was the oddest sound, the oddest feeling. Yet Lex's senses felt so heightened to him, he was sure he could have heard a spider crawl. Deciphering Clark's words was effortless.
Still. No one moved.
Lex seemed to recall—from conversations of awkwardness more than experiences of awkwardness, since he didn't normally care enough about the possible consequences to his half-assed relationships to bother feeling awkward—that these types of situations were supposed to be easier in the dark. Paralyzed now, he wondered if he would even be able to retain consciousness if someone were to switch on the lights.
The body in his arms—in his arms!—swelled as Clark took in a deep breath.
"Um... sorry about—"
"It's just the contact. It's all right."
"...I was dreaming."
"I know. It's okay."
Lex wondered how long, how far they could take this simple, embarrassing conversation without letting go of one another, without feeling they needed to. Somehow, looking Clark in the face—even dimly lit—seemed a Gargantuan task. If not impossible, it was surely at least highly improbable.
"Were you dreaming, Lex?"
Hearing his name softly whispered in the dark did something—something warm, something even more frightening—but Lex couldn't exactly tell what it was.
"I don't think so. I don't remember."
It would have been easy to blame this grip he had taken on a dream—easy as anything. But he felt oddly compelled to not cover up his mistake in anything other than the truth.
"I think I was just cold and you're..."
"...Warm?"
"Exceedingly warm."
"...Hot?"
"Yes. Rather hot."
"You feel warm now, too."
"I suppose I am. Warm. Now."
Why wasn't that nudging between his legs going away? What exactly had Clark been dreaming about that was so exciting as to keep such a thing going through so much awkwardness and mutual humiliation?
"Do you want me to let you go?"
"...Do you want me to let you go, Clark?"
"I asked you first."
Teenage logic. It should certainly have bothered Lex more than it did that Clark managed to trip him up with such an elementary tactic so often. But instead... it felt warm, too. Lex wasn't sure what that meant.
"Oh. I... don't want you to let me go unless you want to let me go."
"Because you might get cold again?"
"...One reason. Yes."
"Give me another reason."
Lex's heart beat harder, faster. The back of his neck burned and he felt his skin grow damp. He thought perhaps he would never be cold in Clark's presence again. Even if Clark did let him go. Even if Clark let him all the way go.
"I think... letting go would be even more embarrassing than holding on."
"Oh."
Perhaps if he just stuck to the truth. Perhaps if he always just stuck to the truth—the most simple version of the truth—he would be all right. Accepted here. Even forgiven.
"Do you want to go back to sleep, Lex?"
"It's the middle of the night. We should."
"But do you want to?"
Did he? Could he? Could he ever again?
"What are my choices?"
"We could talk more... if you wanted. We could... maybe shift a little."
"...‘Shift a little’?"
"Yeah."
Lex didn't know what else to say, what to ask. So about half a minute passed by when there was nothing but his heart pounding and sweat pooling on his upper lip and his thighs and underarms growing damp. There was nothing but fear and deafening quiet and expectation he wasn't sure he wanted—wasn't sure he could handle.
Then, from Clark, there came the smallest of movements which, if Lex had needed to describe, he would, in fact, have referred to as ‘shifting.’
Lex's body was shifted slightly down, Clark's slightly up. Hardness was caught between his legs and he began to answer it in kind. His heart stopped, then sped up. The fear faded, then increased, then faded again. He stopped breathing. He stopped thinking.
Clark's face... was right there. Inches away. But Clark did not move. So Lex did not move. They stared.
There was light from somewhere. Lex knew not where, but it surely existed, because his eyes adjusted to it. When finally visible, he found his own paralyzing fear being mirrored back at him. But Clark's eyes must truly have been a mirror, because everything else—the hope, the desire, the wonder—was equally, perhaps more so, reflected. That brought breath. It brought heartbeats. It brought more fear, and finally thinking. And Lex pondered whether it was enough.
"What does this mean, Clark?"
What did any of it mean? What did Lex even mean?
"I guess... it means we're more."
Lex came to understand, as Clark's face got closer and they both let their eyes close, that it wasn't simple physical shifting which Clark had proposed and Lex had accepted. This shift was more.
This shift would make them more.
* * * * * *
The Beginning.
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Loved it? Detested it? Thought it was too damn short? ;) Lemme know. I'm interested.