Shift in Perception
Dedication: To Jenn and Bethy, for more reasons than I can list here -- they know why.
The first time was completely unexpected.
In thinking about it afterwards, Clark supposed that it shouldn't have surprised him so much. On his porch, watching the sunrise from the wrong side of a good night's sleep. His parents were still in bed, unaware that their son had once again saved the Smallville citizenry from a person with meteorite-induced anger management issues. One of the intended victims standing next to Clark on the porch, neither of them able to contemplate sleep just yet, sharing a comfortable, meaningful silence. It made sense that it happened. The type of sense related to the non-reality of a John Hughes by way of Steven Spielberg film. What should have surprised him was the lack of an eighties pop soundtrack overlaying the early morning dew.
But he was caught wholly unprepared. The odd mixture of exhaustion and adrenaline still making its way through his blood didn't prevent Clark from recognizing the signs -- the sudden turn and step taken into his personal space, the slight tilt to the head, the eyes meeting his with a curiosity that surpassed friendship. An unspoken question asked, and his answer must have been obvious as the lips raised to meet his.
His first kiss. Somehow Clark didn't think his encounter with a disturbed shape-shifter who'd had an agenda should count. Nor could he include the kiss with Chloe in the barn when they were twelve -- a brief brushing of lips that had ended with both of them pulling back, wiping their sleeves across their mouths and subsequently falling into hysterics.
His first real kiss. Soft lips under his -- brushing, seeking, not pushing at all. Clark leaned further into it, changing the angle and sliding his hand slowly up the arm, across the shoulder, finally cupping the neck. Both moving closer, bodies touching now, just the barest of contacts as the kiss deepened.
His first real kiss came from his first crush. How very Norman Rockwell.
Lana's arms slid around his waist, and Clark partially rested his weight back against the porch railing. Even in the midst of it, Clark had a hard time grasping the fact that the kiss was happening. Fantasy had crashed headlong into reality without warning, and only the mild discomfort of the banister digging into the backs of his legs convinced him that he wasn't asleep and dreaming this.
Maybe that's why it took him longer than it should have to realize something was wrong.
The kiss should have been perfect. It matched his dreams almost to the last detail, from how Lana felt in his arms to the sweet innocence imbuing the lips under his own. But his reaction to the seeming perfection of the moment was vastly different from what he'd expected. There was no rush of blood in his body, no desperate need to get as close as he could. He felt completely in control, nearly at ease, and that just made no sense at all.
He had to be in shock, a part of him not yet accepting that this wasn't a dream. Only explanation that made sense, so instead of backing away, Clark reached. Slid an arm down to Lana's waist, pulled her closer, just enough to make a difference for him but not enough to frighten her. She responded positively, her hands moving across his back and head tilting up to his in silent encouragement. This just confused Clark even further, because it didn't change anything. It wasn't that he had no reaction to the kiss, but it was instinct without drive; pleasure without passion.
And it wasn't enough. You know you're in trouble when fantasy so far outstrips reality. Sigh of confused frustration forcibly choked back, Clark let go and tried to explain in a way that wouldn't hurt.
The first time was completely unexpected, and it ended badly.
What could be had become what wasn't.
The second time was even more unexpected than the first.
Even in retrospect, Clark couldn't find a reason that he shouldn't have been surprised that time. Kneeling beside a couch, ministering to a wound with all the experience farm living had given him. First aid supplies sat on the floor next to his knees. He'd known just what to grab in his hurried exploration of the bathroom cabinets.
Deep puncture wound, already starting to bruise based upon the hiss of pain that met Clark's ears when he gently touched the area. The injury was on the inside of the forearm just to the side of the large brachial vein, so a hospital trip was unnecessary. The lack of bleeding from the wound made the possibility of infection the largest problem. So Clark instinctively did what he'd seen his mother do in the past -- placed his mouth over the spot and sucked, trying to draw out the blood to hopefully flush away contagion.
Clark was unprepared for the gasp he heard from the prone body on the couch, so different from the pure pain reaction to his earlier touch. Still an edge of ache to it, but even Clark's inexperienced ears picked up the pleasure in the sound. Not thinking, instinct in control, Clark sucked harder. Knowing that he'd pulled enough blood already to make the wound relatively safe from infection didn't seem to matter. Nothing mattered but the caught breath echoing in his ears and the coppery slick taste of the blood on his tongue. It felt like possession, taking this into himself, letting it speed up his pulse and harden his body.
It suddenly occurred to Clark what he was doing, the inappropriate sensuality of it, and he pulled away. Still couldn't prevent him from staring at the reddened flesh as it faded back to pale, couldn't stop his near anger that there was no mark left behind save the wound that had already been there before. Ownership, and he couldn't resist licking away the pearl of blood that rose to the surface from his attentions. That was his, too.
If there was a reaction to that last caress, Clark couldn't hear it over the rushing of the blood in his ears. Too hot to think -- everything centered on what he would see when he raised his eyes and not even knowing what he wanted to see. His nerves buzzing with something more than unease and less than fear; an eternity of a millisecond as his gaze traveled from the arm still held in his grasp up to meet the eyes of the supine form next to him.
A nearly physical jolt to see the blue eyes reflecting an answering heat and need that may have surpassed his own. Again, the silent question was asked, but it immediately drowned in a wave of instinctive knowledge. A quick movement from reclined to sitting, legs splayed on either side of Clark's kneeling form, and lips met his.
His second real kiss came from his closest male friend. How very John Waters.
Lex's kiss was different in all the right ways -- no permission asked, no quarter given. Hard tension in the soft lips that moved restlessly over his own, tongue forcing entry with a need that didn't allow tenderness to factor in the equation. Clark didn't care, didn't want tenderness any more than Lex apparently did. Too wrapped up in the new sensations flooding his body -- everything he'd expected from the kiss with Lana and hadn't found. Lean muscles and hard heat far surpassed soft smiles and gentle curves.
A groan rumbling through his chest, Clark shifted closer to the couch. Felt Lex's hands at the small of his back, seeking the skin underneath his sweater and finding it with an answering moan of triumph, muffled inside Clark's mouth. Vibrations from the sound skated across Clark's tongue, and for a second he thought all the oxygen had left the room. Breathing became difficult, but it didn't matter, made it better, and his hands moved from clutching Lex's neck and head. Shaking clumsily from the need and heat coursing through his blood, Clark's hands slipped around Lex's back and down to cup his ass, pulling him forward on the couch fast. They shared a shuddering caught breath at the contact, Lex's lips leaving his as he reflexively threw his head back.
Eyes met again in a silence broken only by the sounds of hastily drawn, shallow breaths. Body to body; heat to heat; need to need. And Clark knew that this was the difference -- the difference between the seemingly unattainable and the taboo. But it was more than the lure of the forbidden. On some level deeper than rebellion and stronger than instinct, Clark knew that this was the way it had to be -- mutual trust, mutual need, mutual possession.
And it was everything. You know you're in trouble when reality so far outstrips fantasy. Clark accepted the inevitability of this, welcomed it, and drew Lex's lips back to his.
The second time was even more unexpected than the first, and it ended perfectly.
What could never be had become what is.
~ The End ~