Summary: Lex is unhappy with his own state of mind. Lex/Clark Disclaimer: Still not mine, darn it.
Obssession is a tangible thing, and Lex will never let anyone tell him anything different. Obsession walks, talks and breathes, camouflaged in denim and flannel. Obsession is just a little underage and lives hidden in plain sight on a farm in Kansas.
Lex thought he knew Obsession. Until recently. Obsession is a new toy, a new acquisition, a new car, a new woman. Obsession used to be a fleeting thing, replaceable at any time by a different, more current Obsession.
Lex always knows his own innermost feelings and dissects them on a fairly regular basis over smooth, aged liquor. Lex realizes he has never known true, consuming Obsession until now. Never before felt the stabbing gut-wrench of blinding Obsession. An ache of need that he fears will break him someday. Soon.
Obsession sits at a table with him at the Talon, making him hold his cup with both hands, so some tiny tremble won't give him away. Makes him drink more caffeine than he really should, adding to the mind-torture that will render him sleepless much later.
Obsession sits in his home, on his sofa, at his table, and thank sweet Jesus all the rooms in the mansion are large, so he can distance himself if he needs to, hide himself behind a desk, behind his laptop, behind his pool table.
Obsession sits next to him in his car, too close, and Lex wonders why the accelerated beat of his heart can't be heard, why the increasingly ragged feel of his breath doesn't cause any concern for the Obsession sitting mere inches from him.
Obsession needs to be forced aside and buried. There are too many things at risk, mostly his own sense of self, wandering around inside like a lost thing, all-day ache, all-night yearn, while Obsession drifts through his life on a daily basis blithely unaware of the turmoil in Lex.
Obsession has become addicting and ever-present in Lex. Obsession is all he wants and needs. Obsession is everything.
He really needs to do something about this.
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