Written after reading one of my favorite poems, "Heart and Mind" by Edith Sitwell. Thanks to Te for looking it over.
The wall that faces east is glass from floor to ceiling. Lex walks into the sunlight, tilting his face up into the golden-red wash of heat. There's not a cloud in the endless summertime blue.
On the west side of Lex's office, there's a door. It doesn't open from the inside. There's no balcony out there.
The door opens.
A gust of fresh air washes through the stillness of the room. Clark's been flying high; an aura of cold surrounds him, like leaning into an open freezer. His body is like chill marble. He wraps his arms around Lex, cool hands sliding beneath his jacket. Lex leans back into him, smiling. "Cook's making your favorite for dinner."
Clark laughs under his breath at the lie. "I'd actually like to see her version of Mom's tuna casserole..."
Maybe now, Lex thinks. Maybe this time. He'll just grab Clark, take him down. Roll around with him, like you're supposed to when someone's on fire. Play Prometheus to Clark's sun god and steal some of that divine spark.
Keep him here.
Clark's warming up, all too quickly. Lex wishes it were because of the body heat they're sharing. But Clark makes his own heat, and it never takes more than a moment for him to regain his equilibrium. All too soon his cheek turns feverish against Lex's temple, his body radiating stored heat like fire-warmed brick. Sweat prickles uncomfortably between them.
Lex's eyes drift closed. "Stay."
Clark sighs and presses a quick, hot kiss to Lex's cheek.
Lex sighs, and turns his head towards Clark. Not too quickly, though. Lex has always been cold-blooded. The heat makes him sluggish. Slow. He stands still as Clark untangles himself. He doesn't watch as Clark goes.
One last draft breezes across the room. The door into the sky closes. Lex looks up at the sun through closed eyes. It glows the same jewel-red tone as Clark's cape and the shield he wears on his chest.
The room is silent again, sealed off and stifling. The sun beats down.
Maybe tonight, Lex thinks, eyes still closed. Maybe by moonlight. He'll tangle Clark in cool white sheets. Catch him, trap him and not let go for some unimaginable, luxurious length of time. An hour. Two hours. The nights are short, this time of year. Midsummer's coming.
One of these days, they'll get to see the sun rise.
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