Clark's never been to the Metropolis Zoo, but he dreams of things he thinks should be there. Cobalt blue elephants and purple tigers with plaid designs; dodo birds and fuzzy baby snow seals. In his dreams, he sees things that have fallen into extinction and things that have never existed at all, like the vermilion morning glories creeping along the windowsill outside his bedroom window.
His own alien utopia.
In his dreams, the sky is chartreuse and the grass is pewter, and he spends his days at the farmhouse listening to a family of nightingales singing, calling his name in some language he doesn't speak. Their incessant noise drowns out his father's toiling on the tractor out on the back ten. Invariably, his dreams take place in his bedroom; and when he looks around, the windows are wide open and a green sun is blazing on acres of sunflowers, except that his parents grow organic vegetables.
His room seems smaller than usual in this particular dream, and he wonders if he ate something last night that he shouldn't have. Wonders if the ghost of Lewis Carroll visited Smallville while he was at school and if the fourth chocolate cupcake he had last night actually had a tag attached that said 'eat me.' Although he thinks another possibility may be those abnormally large Brussel sprouts that seemed to mutate on his plate during dinner. He knows it's all highly unlikely, but stranger things have certainly happened, and Clark thinks that he can actually feel himself growing. Feel his bones elongating and his skin stretching.
The sensation of lying on his bed, in his dream, seems to reek of deja vu, and when Clark looks up he realizes his ceiling is vaulted like the French Gothic churches he's read about in History. Enormous crossbeams supporting stained glass windows that don't fit the church style, and each window a depiction of the meteor shower, featuring someone special in his life.
Every window an image of what Clark thinks his arrival must've been like for the people in his life.
There's Lana in her fairy princess costume, surrounded by glittering black flames and magenta sparkles; and there's Pete stuck in the backseat of his parents station wagon as they drive back from the Homecoming game. And directly over Clark's bed is a depiction of a mini-Lex in the cornfields. Lex without hair because that's the only way Clark knows him.
Knows his Lex.
Clark tries not to spend too much time staring at the windows because they only inflate his guilt complex; but they leave interesting varicolored designs on his walls, and he feels like he's living inside a soap bubble.
The longer the dream goes on the more confused Clark becomes. Even in his utopia he still has homework, but when he tries to do it, he finds himself lost and floundering. For some inexplicably crucial reason, he has to strip his bed down to the bare mattress before he can do his homework on it, but the raspberry flannel linens refuse to come off.
His English teacher has assigned them five chapters from 'The Great Gatsby,' but there's nobody by that name in this book he's reading. Just some guy named Humbert Humbert and some girl named Lolita. Clark can't be sure, but he doesn't think his teacher is going to accept this as a valid excuse when he tries to explain it in class. To make matters worse, every time he tries to put down the book, he feels a slight breeze blowing against the side of his face but can't understand why. The sensation is soft and faint, like a missed kiss, and it raises the hairs on the back of his neck. It's hard for Clark to account for the feeling because there's no air coming in from outside; and the diaphanous curtains barely move when he finally climbs off his bed and looks out the window.
The orange morning glories have practically enshrined the windowsill, and he's not sure where they've come from. He doesn't remember them being there when he went to sleep; and briefly, Clark has a vague empathy for how Jack must've felt when he woke up and realized that that beanstalk hadn't been there the night before either.
The yellow sky seems to burn crimson under his intense scrutiny, and for a second he thinks his corneas are on fire, only it doesn't hurt. Closes his eyes because he doesn't feel pain of any kind, and for a second, he wishes that he did ... hurt. Wishes that things were different, but when his eyelashes flutter open the sky is still glowing, and there are three iridescent green hummingbirds flying out of his room and off towards the barn.
When he turns back to his bed to finish his homework, Lex is sitting there, Indian-style, like a Yoga instructor; and in one hand he holds a book by somebody called Nabokov. It's the strangest thing that Clark's seen yet, and all he can do is stare. Study Lex, whose pale skin is illuminated by the purple silk sheets he seems to be wrapped in like a toga, and for a second Clark wants to call Lex 'Augustus.'
He can't help but notice the way that the Lex seems to be naked underneath the sheet, and while he's trying not to notice, his eyes have decided they have their own agenda. Magnetic pull towards Lex's groin and when Clark's eyes finally make their way back to Lex's face they lock in on Lex's tongue wetting his lips. Blur-rush of graphic images in DreamClark's head, and he can't seem to figure out what the hell he's supposed to say. If he's supposed to say anything, and why Lex is even there. But Clark can't really bring himself to care, because everything just seems right; and for once Clark doesn't feel this overwhelming need to rationalize anything.
So instead, he closes his eyes and counts to ten and for a moment he's floating in the center of the world. A meteor-green, molten lava core, and Clark is just hovering above a million degrees that warm his skin like hot chocolate in January.
When he opens his eyes again, he's greeted with that trademark slow, lazy grin on Lex's face, and Clark thinks that perhaps talking isn't really necessary anyway. Not with Lex shifting on his bed and that toga actually not being a toga at all but just a rather well placed piece of bed linen. Not sure whether to move himself or move the bed, and since this is Clark's dream it's okay that when he blinks he's in the bed with Lex and the sheet is just this small piece of cloth the size of a table napkin.
He can feel Lex's amused gray-blue eyes on his face, but Clark can't stop staring. Can barely comprehend how beautiful Lex is. How flawless. Hazel eyes darting over blissful inches of naked skin, and Clark's hands ripping into the mattress in an effort not to assault Lex.
Even in his dreams Clark's careful, but he feels so powerless against the magnetic pull of Lex's pink lips which are only accentuated by the small scar and a permanent sense of arrogance. His hairless scalp reflecting light from the stained glass ceiling, and Clark is completely cocooned by Lex's presence. By Lex's body. A whiff of Lex's subtle, imported cologne that Clark visualizes in his mind like a kaleidoscope of colors and fireworks, like when Clark rubs his eyes too hard and sees stars.
Lex is exuding some sort of invisible electricity, and Clark can feel the air buzzing around him. Atoms and neutrons and hormones everywhere. Charging the air, charging him, and all he wants to do is kiss Lex. Touch him. Feel Lex's mouth against his. Pray that the reality is as good as the dream, and when he leans forward he keeps his eyes open because he wants to see Lex. See everything.
Watches Lex lick his lips, and then Clark gives his prerequisite blush when Lex's eyes narrow as he does the same. So close to what he wants and Lex's lips parting for him. To kiss Clark. To say his name. Except that it's not Lex's voice he hears, it's his mother's voice instead. And when Clark finally wakes up his sheets are sticky and he's late for school again.
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