Sep. 17th, 2007 @ 02:02 pm "So what does this have to do with that?" he said, irritated.
Current Mood: amused

I'm off to reply to comments. But before I do, here's something that the LJ auto-post thingie coughed up for me. It's a mixture of fic from 2-1/2 different fandoms, essays and a sprinkle of RL. In other words: Hee! And surprisingly surreal meta-fic.

This started out as a few sentences that I ejected from another story that I'm working on.
I'm not sure what this is. My brain? I got to see for myself."

"Yeah, if you don't pick up the pace a bit, old man," Spike would gasp. "You telling me what a right bastard he is, how he's so fucked up. Sucks to be him. Sucks to be him. Sucks to be dead, don’t it, Spike?”

“Lord, you’re in your cups.”

“What? I’m not allowed? You get shit-faced all the time. Go from infancy to adolescence in one brief shining moment. Maybe it has something to do with the space ship, the meteor shower and the caves. He's reasonably guessed some, if not all, of Clark's powers:

Lionel: What's this? [He picks up folder from Lex's desk containing 8x10 photos.]

Lex: A single frame picked off a security camera from one of the popular ships among Gunn writers. But if you're looking for teh hot sex here, you're not going to add up to the idea." God, she shouldn't have to tell him.

"Don't freak, Chloe, please." He started to pull away. Must want this a little too because Spike wasn’t on his arse. So he wreathed one arm around him, whispered, “We’re not done.”

Angel flinched.

“No, we’re not. Shhh.”

Angel relaxed, opened his thighs, leaned his head down, hands still against the wheel. "Our lives would have been said subtly over and over again for twenty years.

Angelus had taken on the role of Byronic hero, the Dark Romantic--and no this is not just a leg over. Not for him; not for Angel neither. Never was, really. When he followed Angel into the shower himself.

He came back to find Clark practically hyperventilating. "Lex, please!"

"I'll handle this, Clark. Calm down."

"Thank you, Mr. Peterson, but I promised Clark here just one drink. Wouldn't want to get him into too much trouble, now would we?" He leaned down with a sly wink. "Why don't you let me get things started.” And Clark started stroking himself, slowly, eyes never leaving Clark's face. “That one...that one's always been a match for him as she is for Clark. Lex leaves no part of her untouched. Just as Lex touches every woman that Clark so much as looked at them in over a year. He's thought once or twice to prove a point – Selina, Talia, even Harvey before the accident. Forget Lex on his knees behind Angel on the bed, the faint stain of water underneath him, towel still wrapped for a ludicrous discretion. And he was watching television. The light, answering images, shifted across his face. No less dangerous than he'd ever been. "Weekends in the Hamptons? Antiquing?" He snorted. "Really, Clark, you're much too easy."

Years ago, yes, he would have kept a discreet distance, allowing Clark any surveillance.

But this was his city, Lex the visitor. An uncharacteristically drunk visitor, but no less dangerous.

"Why, whomever do you mean, Lex?" he inquired with the carefully cultivated tone of the bored and famous. He couldn't imagine that Luthor would be interested in the slightest in the sleek debutante that had accompanied him this evening. Window dressing only. Appearances. He barely recalled her name.

Lex swirled his scotch, continued gazing at the city lights. "Most people are attracted to their power, but their virtue, the very thing he claims to be protecting—so that they are no longer human but something else. They become what they've been chosen to fight.

These soldiers, this army, each one of them is as strong as Clark. Clark, who will later become a self-proclaimed Protector of Humanity? Or would it have made the bus, but he didn't feel like sitting and being ordinary. Not this morning. Not today. The corn was oh so very tall as he sped into it, all silk and husk and bending. He risked a whoop in the middle of the commons, Harvey's back disappearing towards the dorms.

"He has a free too," Bruce said. "If you're going to be pissed."

But then a breath, a sigh, answered him: acquiescence and life and death and he will take. Oliver will...

It's a fate Clark deserves. More than you did all those years ago when Spoken Word was The Thing.

14. I have not loved my fellow fen as myself. I am truly sorry and I humbly repent. For your sake, have mercy on me and forgive me; that I may never post, but it works as a compliment for men over forty." But he didn't get anywhere. He couldn't get in.

“Clark, could you just relax?” One more jab. “Relax!”

Oh shit. Him and his ass of titanium, his own internal fortress. Lex tried once more into the breach, my friends. Oh god. “Maybe you could try your fingers first or something? Seriously, Lex, have you even done this before?”

“Yes, I have! I should think I know that? I couldn't help it. I couldn't. I..."

And his anger miraculously seeped away. If this was only one production assistant. One. And she was busy in the studio. So Redd Foxx calls up and demands to speak to the producer, the phones are ringing off the hook with people wanting tickets, and I have my preferences. But I like the link? Of course, I said, I do like him." He moved closer to Bruce. "But you've suspected, haven't you? You're not laughing and telling me to fuck off. I can tell you what they want to see any bruises on that perfect skin.

Yes, he's seen them, mottled and glaring. Something he never wants to see that's what it is, I didn't finish it . So then I thought of making a series praising one person on my flist read this fandom, so I don't feel like such a hypocrite for posting this. Because it's off-the cuff and it's rough cut. Heh, go me. Don't even ask me what I was thinking. Okay, ask. Tell me WTF? It's better than hearing the crickets chirp.

You guys are going to hang out in the middle of the crowd, made his way to do harm to his person. After a long day of meetings and negotiations in Metropolis, Lex didn't much feel like subjecting himself to the point of mobility and retrieved a bar towel from the liquor stand.

Clark discontinued his rummaging and just looked at him. Don't do it, his eyes said. Think of something else.

Bruce looked down at the bottle. "I don't get drunk," he said, almost apologetic. "This is kind of pointless." He also noticed that Lex's hand hadn't left his shoulder. He shifted, just a little, until that hand slid down loosely around his neck, and said without the slightest hint of jealousy...almost interest, “We both know that your tastes tend toward...the Byzantine, so don't tell me that you don't have an NY Times online subscription, it's free and it only takes a few sips and sighs, places the glass on his desk. He walks over to Superman, toes the kryptonite with a polished Italian shoe. It rolls a foot, then two, across the floor.

"Time to move, hero. I want you to stay, but appearances."

"Yeah, I get it, Lex," Clark said as he poked it mournfully with a fork.

"Why don't we go back to my place for an digestif?" Lex suggested. "My private bar has a superior selection, plus a view of the dissection table. Clark's body, without so much as a sheet, is splayed across it.

"You may begin, Mr. Carter," he says as he descends, fangs bared. "Daddy always knows best, you little shit. When you wake up you're gonna have a whole new perspective."

The bite, when it comes, is quick. The true horror is that he can control. He can't have both, anymore than Lionel could. He's repeating history because he doesn't care to learn from it. By denying his father, he becomes his father.

He may have been a voyeur after all since he said nothing but "Clark..." as he pushed Clark back, his tongue wandering across that broad chest. He worked his way towards them. Lex adjusted his suit jacket, laid it on the side of his face that was already blackening with bruises, “I can’t sweat the small stuff anymore, Spike. She was already dead.”

Spike stood up, reached inside the duster and muttered, “Just meant doing for you. Helping you about the flat and all.” He looked away.

“I’m touched, Spike, I really am,” Angel scoffed. But then he paused, rewound the last few years?” Spike grinned up at him as he draws his last.

"It's Christmas Eve, Clark. Don't you have somewhere to go?" And Lex knows this is not mutually exclusive from classic hedonism; hell, look at Byron.)

So what does this have to do with that?" Clark said, irritated.

crosspost warning: JF, IJ, GJ & LJ
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