Got Your Back
Lex likes to be held.
You'd never guess it, from the way he holds his personal space around him like a cloak, but Clark knows it's true.
He likes to be held just as Clark's holding him now, his back to Clark's chest. Lex's fingers clasp Clark's hands against his stomach, and if Clark moves his legs...well, he probably won't be able to, because he's not entirely sure which are his and which are Lex's.
At first, Clark had been worried about the fact that Lex's post-orgasm routine always seemed to involve rolling away from him. Well, no. That's not entirely true. At the very first, as in after the first time, he'd been too busy grinning and gasping and looking down at his own body to check it was still his to notice. After the second time he was too stunned that the first time had not, in fact, been a dream, and after the third, and the fourth, and the fifth...well, it took a while. Clark didn't feel that this was unexpected, seeing as he'd just discovered sex. With Lex, and, well. That took up so much space in his head that there was no room for anything but unholy glee.
But once he did notice...it just seemed so weird. Clark didn't think it could be that Lex didn't want to look at him. God knew Clark had been on the receiving end of that intense gaze often enough to know that Lex liked to look. The whole highly inappropriate full body sweep thing - hadn't that been his first clue that Lex might not actually think of him like a brother? All those lingering glances and the way Clark could feel Lex's eyes on him like a physical caress...it had seemed so strange that Lex should want to face away from Clark, especially as during the actual having of the sex itself he was the world's most unashamed voyeur.
And it wasn't that he didn't want to touch Clark, because Lex was even touchier during afterglow, if that was possible. He couldn't lie still, but would slide his hands up and down Clark's forearms, press back into every shift of Clark's body, tilt his head to nuzzle at Clark's jaw.... Clark had briefly entertained the notion, gleaned from the problem pages of Chloe's magazines, that Lex was being a 'typical guy', whatever that meant, but had dismissed it almost instantly on the grounds that in order to do typical guy stuff, Lex would need to actually be a typical guy, and, well. He wasn't.
So Clark didn't know why it happened, but it did. He'd thought that maybe he was the weird one. Weren't guys supposed to just roll over and go to sleep? But that didn't stop it stinging every time Lex turned his back. It just didn't match the Lex that stared intently into his eyes, mapping every reaction as he thrust inside Clark, or the Lex that called his name like it hurt when he came, or the Lex that held and stroked and whispered and soothed when Clark did. Clark wanted to keep Lex there, keep them there, but Lex would only stay until his heartbeat slowed and his breathing had become less labored. Then, with a kiss, he would disentangle himself from Clark and slide down onto the mattress, where he lay on his back for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face and scalp.
Clark didn't mind that part. He quite liked the feel of Lex's arm rubbing against his own as they both grinned up at the ceiling, replete, exchanging glances and smiles. It was the next part he hated - the part where Lex rolled over onto his right side and away from Clark. And Lex was a slim guy but it still put like a foot of space between them - space which Clark felt was entirely unnecessary when you'd just shared bodily fluids with a person. And in the beginning, before he felt like he really belonged in Lex's bed, he didn't have it in him to reach out across the gap, in case he was committing some horrendous post-coital faux pas, and what if Lex laughed at him, or got mad, or made him leave and never come back?
Lex had put an end to that one night when he'd just reached back, found Clark's hand and yanked him across the bed, pulling Clark's arm around his waist. It was better then - but it still didn't explain what was going on.
And Lex wasn't the kind of person you could just ask. Or Clark wasn't the kind of person who could form the question. Or something. So he'd spent what felt like an eternity of nights holding Lex just this way, pondering the significance inside his own head.
Clark can remember the day he figured it out. Not a special day in any particular way - he'd made an unscheduled visit to the castle after deliveries and found Lex standing, arms folded, facing the wide, colorful window behind his desk. Clark couldn't see his face, but his shoulders were drawn up practically to his ears, and he was tapping one of his feet rapidly, sending nervous staccato beats rattling over the polished floor. Lex's beloved laptop was teetering precariously over the edge of his desk, and there were papers and folders strewn over a good ten square feet of floor, looking suspiciously as though they had been swept off the table in annoyance.
None of this seemed to be a particularly good sign. Clark had a feeling that any words he could offer would just wither and die in the face of the extreme tense vibes Lex was radiating, so he did what everybody in his family did when somebody was upset and wrapped his arms around him.
"Bad day?" he said softly. After Lex had jumped about three feet into the air and accused Clark of having felines somewhere in his family history, that is.
Lex sighed and the sound was old and weary. Clark tightened his hold a little and pressed a kiss to Lex's temple, and another to the back of his neck.
"It's just," said Lex, leaning his head back against Clark's shoulder, "I keep thinking that I've moved on, and that I'm different now. I have all these people to look after and..." He trailed off, playing with the button on Clark's shirt cuff.
"I have to be constantly looking over my shoulder," Lex continued, "Looking for.... for the things I thought I'd left behind me. And while I'm doing that I'm not facing forward, I'm not...I can't do all the things I want to do. I can't do them as well as I want to."
Clark stroked Lex's stomach, and said, "Well, I'm behind you, now. So you don't have to worry." He wondered if that sounded as dumb to Lex as it did to him.
But Lex turned in his arms, and smiled, and Clark kissed him. After a while, Lex sighed again, and it wasn't old or weary at all. It was more like...
Clark looks down, pulled from his musings by Lex's small sound, which is followed by a deep, contented exhale. Clark grins into Lex's shoulder.
"I can feel you smiling," Lex grumbles into the pillow, "May I ask what it is that you find so amusing?"
Clark snuggles deeper into the blankets, tugging Lex with him.
"Nothing," he murmurs, and Lex doesn't push, just sighs again, his fake-exasperated one this time, and relaxes even further into Clark's arms. Clark grins again, bites his lip a little. And closes his eyes.
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