Slumber

by Signe



Title: Slumber

Author: Signe

Rating: R

Pairing: Lex/Clark

Genre: First time, episode related.

Summary: Christmas day, and Smallville mysteriously sleeps. All except Clark.

Spoilers: All episodes, but especially Skinwalker, Talisman, Spell, Bound and Scare.

A/N: Dedicated to Cleo. Thanks to my amazing betas, Annie-Lee and A. Campbell. Written for the Undermistletoe Mystery Schmoop Week.

*

So peaceful, Clark thinks.

Almost childlike.

There's an innocence to Lex in sleep, a soft appearance that makes him look, well, his age. Relaxed and carefree, the way he never does awake. He hasn't looked his age for a long time now -- not since Lionel and the Belle Reve doctors stole those seven weeks. Lex would it call ironic that losing time has aged him, but Clark's never been able to find anything amusing about that time.

They rarely mention Belle Reve, but once, when they'd risked skating onto the thin ice of that topic, Lex had said that truth was more precious than time. Clark had suffered his usual reaction to the word truth, felt as guilty as hell and had fabricated a flimsy reason to rush away.

But he didn't forget what Lex had said.

He went to sleep last night with one wish stuck on repeat in his mind: that he could either give Lex the truth he desired or the time he'd lost. Yet now Lex is losing more time, sleeping like the dead on a day that should have been packed full of life.

He tucks the blanket more firmly around Lex, pats the solid brocade cushion that feels too coarse for the smooth skin on Lex's scalp. Not that Lex is shivering, or looks particularly cold -- Clark simply wants him to be as comfortable as possible. Maybe it just makes Clark feel better, feel that he's doing something. And maybe being with Lex makes him feel that little bit less alone -- absurd really, since Lex is sleeping as soundly as the rest of the town, but he needs to hang onto something, someone, before he freaks out totally, and Lex is the strongest person he knows.

He's already done his best for everyone, he knows that, but he can't stop worrying that he might have forgotten someone. Keeps running mental checklists.

Chloe -- check (extra note, sleeps in the nude).

Yeah.

All right.

Focus.

Lana -- check. Parents -- check. Lex -- check. 44,995 other inhabitants of Smallville -- check.

Clark gives one last pat to the blanket over Lex. He should get back to the farm, make sure his parents are still all right despite their sound sleep. And do what few chores there are to do. Not that there are many worth doing, not while the hens still sleep soundly on their roosts, and the cows stand freakily motionless around the field, heads bowed in sleep.

At least all the potential cow-tippers are also asleep, he thinks with a nervous laugh. He's not sure if he should find humor in the situation or not.

He speeds home along eerily empty roads. The cheer of the fairy lights on the porch is a stark contrast to the silence inside, so he tunes in to KDVV 100.3 FM for some background noise. It helps surprisingly well, makes the house seem more normal. Humming along to a tune he vaguely recognizes, he heads upstairs.

His parents are still lying on their bed where he'd laid them earlier, fully clothed, but with their multi-colored comforter spread over them. He feels his mother's hand -- it's warm enough, and they seem safe for now.

He can't stay with them -- not only is it pointless, but it makes him uncomfortable in a way that watching Lex sleep hadn't.

A handful of raisin cookies, three slices of fudge cake and two glasses of milk later, Clark feels a bit better. There is a turkey in the fridge of course, and part of him wonders if he should try cooking it. The sensible part, that tells him not to even think about trying, wins out.

Stands in the center of the living room, lonely. He doesn't have the heart to open the presents around the tree, not on his own, not without someone to jump up and hug or to exclaim when he tears good wrapping paper to shreds in his impatience.

Enough of that. There's no point standing around missing what he doesn't have.

Instead he sits down at the table and tries to work if there are any clues, any hints at all, that will help him to solve the mystery of what has happened to Smallville.

Works through the options. It can't be magic - magic would have affected him as much as anyone. Lana, or rather the countess who possessed her, made sure he learned that lesson. And he's pretty sure it isn't anything Lex has been doing at the plant, or Lionel before him, because-well, he's finally grown to trust Lex. And Lex has assured him after the virus scare that the entire plant has been cleaned up, every last one of Lionel's projects checked and closed where necessary.

Chloe's voice jumps into his head. Think, Kent, think. Who or what can help him, where might he find answers?

The caves. It's obvious in retrospect. Not that all this is necessarily anything to do with Jor-El or the meteor shower, but this is Smallville, and right now, it's his only logical idea. Because the other idea he had, of going back to the castle and curling up with Lex, doesn't count as a logical solution, however oddly appealing it sounds.

His progress to the caves is erratic -- super-speed a distance, slow down to think, super-speed a bit more. When he is about halfway there, walking for a stretch, pondering possibilities, the ground begins to tremble -- not enough to cause visible damage, but enough to make him feel off balance for a few seconds.

Clark doesn't think too much of it at first, but then panic sets in. What if the caves have been damaged by the tremor? It was far stronger than Lionel Luthor's bulldozers had been, and even they were enough to cause rock falls. He's at the entrance in a few seconds, running inside, hands sweeping the walls while his eyes adjust to the dark.

Except it isn't dark, not as dark as it normally is.

A wide ray of light hits the ground near the back of the caves, far further back than the hole he'd caused when he first fell in here. Clark feels his heart beat increasing, whether in anticipation or worry he isn't sure. He makes his way, surefooted on the rough ground, to the lit area. There has been a rock fall, very recent, as dust motes still dance heavily in the light. Large boulders are scattered on the floor, as large as the one that nearly killed Kyla, but Clark just climbs carelessly over them, his eyes on one thing only.

Writing.

There are symbols on the wall here, a whole section of images that he's not seen before. Excitement surges through him. It can't be a coincidence, surely? This was meant to happen, the earth tremor, his being here right now.

He reaches out, traces ancient lines, feeling a sense of wonder. He's never been enthralled by history, not the way Lex is, but this- This was meant for him. These words haven't have been seen in centuries; they've been hidden, waiting until he needed them.

And he understands them, with no difficulty at all. He reads the words aloud, slowly, like a child attempting his first real book.

On the day holy to the Wasi'chu, the newcomers, the sun will stand still, and all will be as dead but not dead.

Relief washes over him, warm and comforting as a hot shower. Just one day, today. No one will be harmed, and if they all sleep for twenty-four hours it will be as though the sun has stood still for them. He doesn't have to do anything, just wait until tomorrow and everything will be back to normal. He won't even need to worry about questions because no one will be able to trace anything back to him. He can feel the tension ebbing away from him, muscles that he hadn't realized were tense and aching, now relax.

The farm still seems unnaturally quiet when he gets back, but it doesn't bother him so much. He watches some TV, A Christmas Story on the WTBS Superstation, the usual Christmas evening junk, then goes to bed early. Tomorrow he'll wake up to the usual sounds: his dad cursing over the empty toothpaste tube, his mother calling him to hurry up.

*

He wakes up, stretches, one chilled leg stuck out from under the comforter as usual. He pulls it under, bunches the comforter around his legs and gets comfortable again. A moment's confusion while he tries to work out what day it is, then memories rush in. The town all falling asleep, all except him. The words of the prophecy. And today is the next day, so all should be well again.

Only he can't hear anything: no cattle, no hens, no birds, no mom or dad.

He jumps up, grabs clean underwear from his drawer, and pulls on the jeans and tee and shirt he'd discarded on the floor the night before. They're crumpled, but not too grubby. He can't see anything useful from his window so he knocks on his parents' door, then pokes his head around the door.

They're still exactly as he left them the night before, the only signs of life a gentle rise and fall of the comforter over their chests.

He couldn't have read it wrongly, he couldn't have. It had all seemed so clear and simple. He can still picture the symbols in his mind, feel the cracked paint under his fingertips, sense the meaning of them all falling into place. But-

But something is wrong. It hasn't happen the way the prophecy said it would. Everyone, everything, is still asleep.

He picks up a flashlight from the barn and runs back to the only place that he thinks might have answers. It's even lighter inside the caves today, now that the dust has settled. The symbols look fresh under the light of the torch despite the way the paint is peeling off the wall, bright yellows and reds and blues, the colors sharper here than those he's familiar with. He wants to touch them again; fears damaging them, but still reaches out. And sees more. Another word, hidden behind fallen debris.

He tries not to rush, thinks of archeologists carefully brushing away at digs with tiny brushes, but he doesn't know if he has hours, doesn't know how urgent the remainder of the message might be. So he sweeps his arm from left to right, a minor avalanche landing at his feet. He doesn't feel it though; he's too engrossed in the new words he sees. He almost can't believe them, except, somehow, they are almost inevitable.

On the day holy to the Wasi'chu, the newcomers, the sun will stand still, and all will be as dead but not dead, until Naman joins Segeeth and harmony is restored.

He's long given up fighting Professor Willowbrook's assertion that he is Naman. As for Segeeth- He's toyed with many theories, logical ones and wildly absurd ones and all stages in-between, but he has always kept coming back to Lex's assertion that Segeeth must be very brave. He remembers Lex walking into the plant, tossing aside his bulletproof jacket, handing himself over to Earl Jenkins as hostage to save Clark and his friends. Lex calmly injecting himself with the antidote to the virus that had given everyone their worst nightmare, using himself as guinea pig when he'd just seen a man die from the first version of the drug. And worst of all, he can still hear Lex calling after him, hear the sounds of Lex fighting to get to him when Clark had failed in his attempt to get Lex out of Belle Reve.

He doesn't know anyone braver than Lex. Or anyone who can balance Clark as well as Lex does, despite all their differences and arguments.

So, if Lex is Segeeth - and his whole being is screaming to him that it is Lex - then- Well, he's not too sure what it means, but so far following his instincts has proven reasonably successful. So he'll fetch Lex here, and hope.

He takes one last look at the old symbols as he heads out of the caves, and sees the image of the turquoise square, the one that matches the bracelet that Kyla used to wear. He keeps it in a box in the barn, though he's never looked at it since Joseph Willowbrook gave it to him. It feels right to go fetch that also, join all the images on the wall in one go.

*

Lex hasn't stirred in his arms all the way from the castle to the caves. Clark has to resist the need to keep checking his pulse, or going into x-ray mode to see that his heart is still pumping, his lungs still squeezing air in and out.

He lays him down on the ground, putting his bunched-up shirt under Lex's head to keep it off the cold ground. He worries that he should have put more clothes on Lex -- he'd only been in slacks and a light pullover when Clark had found him sleeping in his study yesterday, and that outfit isn't really sufficient for a Kansas winter. Clark's fine in a tee, doesn't really feel the cold, but he's sure Lex would have put more on if he'd known he'd be out here.

He's feeling a little less confident now -- instinct has brought him this far, but he's not entirely sure what the words Naman and Segeeth must 'join' mean. Or maybe he does understand, but surely- He doesn't think it's a situation for the fairytale solution -- kissing Lex while he's asleep and unaware feels wrong, like he'd be taking advantage just because it's something he's been wanting to do for longer that he can remember. But Lex, Segeeth, is here, and so is he, and Lex is still sleeping. And then he feels the bracelet trapped against his hip, pulls it out of his jeans pocket and rolls it over and over in his hands.

He kneels beside Lex and takes his left arm, rolls up the sleeve a little. The skin is creamy-white and freckled, a few wisps of pale, gingery hair scattered across the surface. The turquoise and silver looks good as Clark rests it on his arm, doesn't look feminine or out of place in any way, so he unclips it, and slips in on Lex's wrist.

And Lex stirs, takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. Wide and startled.

It's worked.

The light shining through the gap in the roof seems to flicker for a moment, and the quality of it changes -- it seems fresher, paler than before, but Clark barely notices other than to see the way the light falls on Lex's face.

Clark feels relieved, obviously. This is what he wanted -- waking Lex has been his goal all along. Lex, and his parents and the rest of the town, of course. But along with the relief is that old familiar awkwardness that descends on him every time he's used his powers to help Lex, or something strange and kryptonite-related has happened. Lex is about to ask questions, and Clark hasn't even begun to think about how he might field them.

"Clark." Lex makes the name a statement, a greeting as comfortable and ordinary as though Clark has just walked into his study.

"Lex." Clark smiles at him, sheepishly.

"Should I assume another knock on the head?" Lex questions with a smile that's not really a smile.

"Well, um-" Lex has given him an out. He can go along with that idea, profess ignorance of how Lex got here, be -- yet again -- the rescuer who luckily passed by. But that answer won't hold water under close examination, and each time Clark has stammered out a vague non-answer to Lex, he's seen a flash of hurt in Lex's eyes and then watched the light in his face dim, feelings hidden behind blinds.

Clark looks up, away from Lex, desperate for inspiration and advice.

And finds it.

The old symbols on the wall, the ones that have always been visible, the ones he's seen countless times, copied into a notebook in minute detail, could reproduce exactly without ever needing to look at them- They are different, they have changed somehow, whether by magic or some Kryptonian technology that seems like magic to Clark. The design on the bracelet is now beside Segeeth, and the other figure, the one who Kyla had claimed was destined to be with Naman, has vanished.

Clark's fought destiny. Ever since Jor-El made himself known to him, forced himself into Clark's life, Clark has fought against following the path laid down for him. And now ancient paintings are telling him that his destiny is with Lex, something Lex said at the very beginning of their rocky friendship.

Clark is stronger than he's ever been. He's gone through trials and come out the other side, battered and almost broken sometimes, but never defeated. He's beginning to believe that he can ignore destiny, make his own fate. It's all just junctions in the road, and he has choices.

He can disregard the prophecy; he can close his eyes to everything that this change in the images is trying to tell him.

Yet- Clark would be fighting against what he truly wants if he were to ignore the obvious signs. So this isn't giving way to destiny, isn't being swept along on the tide of what must be, it's Clark's own decision.

Did it ever occur to you that maybe the hero of the story... is Segeeth?

Lex's words from that evening in the barn -- Clark's never wanted to think too much about that interpretation. But, deep down, he knows that the idea that he could be so powerful and dangerous scares him more than almost anything. Segeeth as Naman's friend, by his side, keeping him human and grounded, helping him cope with the power that overwhelms him, that would be a constant reassurance. He'd never be alone then -- Cassandra's vision would be one path that wouldn't happen.

All he has to do now is trust Lex, show him that he trusts him.

He looks back down at him, and there's no longer any doubt in his mind.

"No, Lex, you didn't hit your head. You see, there was this prophecy, one we didn't know of. It's in the caves here -- it showed up when I came here last night to try to work out why you wouldn't wake up."

"Back up a moment, Clark. You said 'I wouldn't wake up'?"

"You, and the rest of Smallville. A town full of sleeping beauties." Clark can't resist the joke, although when he thinks about it, he realizes that, in Lex's case, he did notice how beautiful he was asleep.

"All but you?" Lex hesitates, as though he's reluctant to push for any more answers than he's already been given.

"All but me. Kinda scary really, like being the only one left alive in a ghost town."

"And you brought me here?"

"Yes, I thought it might-you see-well- I think I'd better start at the beginning."

"That would be good, though I'll take the Cliffs Notes version for now. Shale doesn't make the most comfortable mattress, and it's not the warmest place for a long story."

Lex pushes himself up, grimacing for a moment at the dirt on his clothes until something catches his eye and he stops. Almost stops breathing, and so does Clark, because Lex's reaction to whatever it is he's thinking is visible on his face and it's huge.

Clark can't continue the explanation, can't do anything other than offer a hand to pull Lex up. Lex doesn't seem to see it, just looks past Clark as he gets to his feet and walks towards the wall.

He's looking at the paintings and Clark wants to stop him looking, wants to tell Lex everything himself, in his own time.

Lex's action when he reaches the wall mirrors Clark's own instincts when he first saw the paintings. He lifts his arm towards them, his left arm, the one with the bracelet. And oh- Of course. He must have seen that and now he's looking at the matching symbol on the wall.

"Did you-" Lex seems oddly hesitant, as though he's not certain what question he should be asking.

Clark knows the answer though, no matter what the question is.

"Yes."

Strange how simple it was. Just one word, and although it's only the very start, he feels light, unburdened, as though all the lies he's told over the last three and a half years are slipping away into oblivion.

He starts to tell Lex the whole story -- he might have said he'd settle for the abridged version, but Lex is brimming with questions and excitement. His eyes are shining, and he's pacing the cave, interrupting every other sentence.

When Clark finally gets to "and then you woke up," Lex grabs him.

"So, you've yet to check on everyone else?"

Clark winces. He hadn't even thought of doing that. Now Lex has raised the question though, he starts to worry. What if it's only Lex who's all right?

"Come on, we'll go now, and you can explain it all later." Lex turns towards the cave entrance, then back to Clark. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you drove here?"

"Um, it was kinda quicker to run-"

Lex gets that look again, that 'kid let loose in a candy store' look. It's the happiest Clark has ever seen him. Amazing how much difference trust can make.

"In that case, you should go check up on your family and everyone else, and then you can send a ride out here for me, or come pick me up." He grins. "I'm not going to ask how I got here in the first place."

"Haven't you got your cell?"

Lex pats his pockets and then shakes his head in remembrance. "The last thing I remember is taking a call. It'll be on the desk -- I'd have put it back in my pocket if I'd known I'd be taking a little excursion dressed like this."

Clark nods in agreement, and then gently tugs Lex over to the cave entrance. He winks at Lex, thinking what fun it is to show off a little again. Without Pete around, he's had no chance to do that. He wonders what superspeed must look like to someone else, and resolves to ask Lex when he gets back. Then he's off with a flourish, the countryside a haze around him until, seconds later, he's at the farm.

There's a robin sitting on the fence, singing, and he can hear a kettle boiling inside.

It's worked.

Though he's going to have some explaining to do, to his parents at least. Good thing the rest of the town will have no reason to link the incident to him.

He walks in, expecting a barrage of questions.

His mother pounces on him the second he's in the door.

"Clark, honey, what were you doing out? You haven't even opened a single present yet."

Strange. That isn't the question he was expecting.

He looks at the clock -- it's just after 8am, so- Has he lost a day? Can't have, or his parents wouldn't sound exactly the same as normal, wouldn't be acting like it was any normal Christmas day.

Christmas Day! Christmas Day?!

"What day is it, Mom?" The question's urgent and Clark has to restrain himself from grabbing his mother and shaking the answer out of her.

"Christmas day. Are you feeling all right?"

"Are you sure?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, needs to check as quickly as possible. The TV -- he turns it on, tapping his fingers impatiently as it seems to take ages to warm up, then he turns to the TV Guide Channel. The date and time scroll past at the top of the channel lineup -- Saturday, December 25, 2004, 08:06:27. He watches the seconds ticking off, then drops his head back and whoops with joy.

The sun standing still in the prophecy -- it must have meant that after it had all happened, time would go back to the moment it started. The entire town's long slumber would be as though it had never happened.

Except for Lex and him. They're joined now, on the same side for good. It's destiny, and it's right.

"Clark, is there something going on that you need to tell your mother and me?"

"Later, Dad. I'll tell you-" He's about to say all, but drops the word when he thinks about Lex. His dad doesn't need to know everything yet. "About it later. Gotta go out now."

He hugs his mom, who looks startled, but not unduly so; it's the calm of a mother who has seen too many strange and wonderful things to be easily perturbed. As he's rushing back out, grabbing a jacket and thick gloves for Lex and the keys to the truck, he remembers to call out that he'll be back in a couple of hours.

Driving into town, everything is normal. There aren't many cars on the road, but there are lights on in houses, kids on new bikes in front yards, and the local station is playing Christmas music on the truck radio. The news headlines don't mention anything unusual, even by Smallville standards.

He's seen and heard enough, and he doesn't want to keep Lex waiting any longer. Even if he's had the sense to put Clark's shirt on, he must be getting cold by now.

It starts to snow as he heads back into the caves, a few soft flakes that settle on the dry ground. He doesn't see Lex until he's some distance into the cave, then Lex calls his name and he looks up. Lex is high up on a ledge, tracing symbols with Clark's flashlight.

"You can read all these?" he asks, looking around.

Clark nods. "I couldn't when Kyla and I first found them, but now-" He shrugs his shoulders. "Reading the language seems to come naturally."

"What does this section say again?"

Lex climbs down and pulls the jacket on gratefully while Clark repeats the newly found prophecy from memory. The words are part of him now, indelible.

He still has questions of his own though.

"What I still don't get is why it all happened in the first place. I mean, why did you all fall asleep? I know it was prophesied, but I don't see why, or how it could have happened."

"The 'how' I can't help you with, though I'm certainly intrigued by that. It would be worth further research. Discreet research," he appends, as Clark looks anxious. "But the 'why'-? Do you not see the reason yet?"

Clark sees hope in Lex's gaze, and tries to understand. He senses that this is important to Lex, that he needs to work out the answer for himself, without any prompts from Lex. So it must be to do with Lex and him. Segeeth and Naman. Their joining.

Segeeth and Naman together in harmony...

That's it. This was all meant to bring him and Lex together. It would have happened years ago if he'd followed his heart and trusted Lex from the start. And last night's wish -- for truth and the missing time -- must have been the catalyst that set all the events in motion.

"I wanted-want you to know the truth, about me, about your time at Belle Reve, all the things I've- hidden from you. This was meant to save our friendship." He can't quite bring himself to admit the lies yet, just the omissions, though he knows they're both fully aware of them. And he'll have to confess everything eventually if this is going to work, if they are to keep their precarious friendship from crumbling and hopefully turn it into something much more, something lasting.

"Segeeth and Naman." Lex mutters the names quietly, almost to himself, but Clark hears him anyway.

"You'll keep me in check, keep me from abusing my powers. I think I might need that, Lex. I've made some bad mistakes, done things I'm not proud of. The summer I spent in Metropolis-"

"I hope there will be more to our friendship than me keeping you in check. Segeeth and Naman are joined now, according to the prophecy." Lex raises a pale eyebrow, almost mocking but not unkindly. "And I appear to be wearing your bracelet."

"Professor Willowbrook said the bracelet is for the true one in my life." Clark stumbles over the words. All the revelations of the day, and this is the one that makes him falter.

Lex rests a hand softly on Clark's shoulder. It's nothing really, just a simple touch, the same way Lex has often touched him, but Clark shivers. It doesn't feel the same. It's Lex. Touching him. He wants-

Wants more. Doesn't know how to ask, what to say, whether to move closer or whether he can move right now or ever again.

Lex talks softly, his face so close that warm puffs of air brush against the side of Clark's face.

"McKay said that thoughts are the architects of your destiny - you can build your own destiny. It can be whatever you want, whatever shape you desire. Not chance, choice."

"What do you want, Lex?"

"I think you know that, Clark. Don't you?"

Clark swallows nervously. His throat feels tight, and he might be about to have a heart attack, but he still manages to look at Lex. "Yes."

The rest is up to him now. He's glad he didn't kiss Lex when he was sleeping because he wants this first time to be perfect.

He tilts his head and leans towards Lex, quickly, before he loses his nerve. Too fast, and their noses clash, and the intended kiss becomes a clumsy glance of his lips across Lex's cheek.

Clark can't stop the blush that races across his face -- he imagines Lex must be able to feel the heat of it. Closes his eyes, wishes he was still young enough to believe that no one can see him when his eyes are closed. He feels such an idiot. Wishes he could hit rewind and try again.

Then Lex is kissing him, mouth to mouth, and they fit, and he doesn't care about rewinding anymore because the moment is perfect after all. And Lex feels hot against him, the strength of destiny and choice hard against him. It's not like any kiss he's ever had before; it's not simple or sweet, not gentle or perfumed. It's demanding and greedy and giving, full of want and promise.

Lex's hands are everywhere, possessive. Clark is hard already, his erection pressed against Lex's belly, but there's no thought of embarrassment, not when Lex's cock is pressed against his thigh and-

God. Lex. Against his thigh. Almost as hard as Clark is.

And Lex's leg is pushing between his thighs and Lex is making sounds. Needy, wanting sounds.

If Clark hadn't already been turned on, the sound of Lex alone would be enough to make him hard.

So good, hearing Lex like this, feeling the vibrations of each sound against his lips as he kisses Lex's neck. Feeling Lex shudder and knowing it's for him, that he's making Lex shiver, and it's not from the cold because Lex is warm in his arms, warm and eager and pulling him up for another kiss. Long, wet kiss, and Lex is nipping, biting his lip, and scraping his nails viciously up under his T-shirt, zigzagging up and down his back, and he'd think Lex is angry but for the look on his face when he pulls away for a second.

So much want.

Clark can't believe he's waited so long for this. Can't stop now.

"Don't-"

Lex face falls, instantly.

"Stop-" Damn, the words aren't running together like they should be, and Lex is pulling away.

"Don't stop!" He gets it right this time, and Lex looks-

God, he never wants to forget this look on Lex's face, like he could devour him whole, like he'd die of starvation if he had to stop.

The weight of the look, focused entirely on him. Heavy. Clark's eyelids sink under the weight, fluttering almost closed. Except that he wants to see too, needs to watch Lex watch him, so he forces his eyes wide open. Stares.

"Christ, Lex."

"Destiny." Whispered, voice gruffer than Clark has ever heard it.

Lex's leg, pushing harder against him. Lex still looking, following every reaction on Clark's face with eyes that are steely gray with concentration. Clark is rutting against Lex's leg, and Lex is letting him, wants this as much as Clark.

"Oh god, fuck. I'm-"

"Come for me, Clark."

And that does it, tips Clark over the edge into the deepest chasm and the fall-the fall is the freest he's ever felt. Gasps Lex's name as he falls, clutches Lex to him.

Holds on.

Finally closes his eyes and rides it out. Comes to rest, eventually, and he's on the ground, Lex on top of him, literally fallen.

Lex is still hard, his cock hot against Clark's hip even through layers of slacks and jeans. Wonders if he should reach down, do something, but then Lex moves, up and down, against him, bites into Clark's neck at the same time, so Clark just holds him, grasps the curves of an ass made to fit his hands, mutters encouragement against the soft whorls of his ear, licks the pulse throbbing in his temple.

Jerky movements from Lex now, irregular and desperate, breath hitching roughly. Comes. Long moments of ecstatic shuddering and all Clark can think of is that this is because of him.

Clark has never felt so tired and simultaneously full of life. Like he could sleep for a year or run around the world in eighty seconds. Wants to sleep with Lex, watch Lex sleep again, or doze off while Lex watches him. Wants to show Lex the world and listen while Lex explains it.

And they haven't even gotten undressed yet. Thinks about Lex naked, and wants that too. Both of them naked, soon. Fuck, yes.

Settles for lying still, nuzzling against the side of Lex's head and listening to his breathing slow to a normal pace.

"Clark, look."

The flashlight has fallen to the floor and it's shining up at the painting of Segeeth and Naman. Who are now entwined, Segeeth no longer sneering in anger but resting against Naman, at peace.

"We've made this happen," Clark whispers in amazement.

"And to think I never believed in Christmas miracles."

Lex smiles, and Clark grins back, so content in this moment that he can't begin to tell Lex how he feels. So he doesn't, he just leans in and holds Lex like Naman is holding Segeeth.

Closer than brothers.

Lovers.

*

Author's note: Wasi'chu is a term sometimes used by Native Americans to refer to white men, the invaders.



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