Tranquility
Notes: Originally appeared in my LJ.
I got attacked by an image tonight. You know, one of those things that appears in your head and you know you won't quite capture in words but have to try anyway. Thus, do I give you the following snippet of saccharine silliness at which you may scoff mightily, at your leisure. *g*
At times, Lex discovers quiet in unpredictable places. He would expect to
find it at the family lodge nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians or
between the soft sheets of his bed on a lazy Sunday morning. Coming across it
here, tonight, is an unexpected gift.
The city sleeps.
He drops the file on the stone patio, settling back into the chaise and staring
up into the night sky. Yes, there are sounds -- this is a city, not a graveyard
or a field of summer wheat. Faint murmurs rise from the street far below his
balcony, but the warm air buffers them. Unforeseen calm settling into the spring
night, as though the world has taken a night off from being too loud and hectic.
The vast spread of stars beckons him to reach up and steal one from the sky. So
close that his fingertips could brush the edge of a nebula if he stretched a
bit. He chooses to watch without grasping, because he's learned that some things
are better left untouched until they choose to be. He knows now that treasures
given freely hold superior gratification to those that have been stolen. Bright,
shiny objects tend to dull when locked up in cages.
Having it all was never really the point. Hollow victories don't satisfy for
long. Knowledge that had taken so much pain and loss to earn is all the more
precious for being learned fully.
The stars belong in the sky, not in his pocket.
His eyes drift shut when a slow breeze wafts across his face. Just absorbing the
touch of zephyr fingers that sooth away the stress of his day with phantom
caresses. Tomorrow there will be phone calls and press conferences and demands
on his time that outnumber the minutes in his day.
Tonight, that doesn't matter.
Soft footfalls herald Clark's approach. Moving closer on cat feet, and Lex knows
he feels it too. He always knows the perfection of a moment and how to
compliment it.
A warm, solid body slides in behind Lex on the lounge chair. There's none of the
awkward coltishness in Clark's movements anymore. Habit and time and
physiological kismet allow the long legs to fold around Lex perfectly.
They always fit, even from the first, but it's easy now. Natural. No shifting to
adjust, more an instinctual slide of muscles underneath the skin that aligns him
to Clark's form. Relaxing back into his haven with the fold of Clark's arms
around him, one circling his waist, the other around his chest with the hand
resting over his heart.
It wasn't always like this.
In the beginning, all the touches had burned and quivered. Heat and need that
collided and intertwined into something alive composed of them both. An ache
that had seemed unquenchable, irresistible.
Unsustainable.
They still burn, but they don't burn out like in the early days. Flash fires
banked into slow burning coals that glow with warmth, ready at all times for the
stir of touch to fuel and catch them alight. They'd fought hard for the peace
and serenity to compliment the passion.
Touch can bring more than pleasure. It can go beyond the pale of sweat and lust
to this. To something quiet and soft. To the place where they're more than a man
who once thought he could save the world and the man who once thought he could
own it. More than time, they'd helped each other to overcome the vaulting
ambitions of reckless youth.
Because nothing matters more than this.
Lex traces the back of Clark's hand with his fingers, other hand running in a
slow caress along the outside of his thigh. Body language says more than words
on a night like this. Clark's deep inhale that presses his chest to Lex's back;
the exhale that feathers lightly over the skin of his neck. They don't speak
because they don't need to.
Once, words had been everything.
Words of encouragement and faith and trust. Words spoken in heated anger, and
they'd come so close to losing so many times. Harsh words that could never be
taken back but could only be apologized for and forgiven. It could have gone
differently, badly. They could have chosen anger and pride over understanding
and forgiveness. It might have been easier to give up, but they'd both decided
not to.
There's always a choice.
Something Clark had said one night long ago in the loft. A night when Lex had
been ready to accept a future that seemed preordained. Soft phrasing filled with
belief, and that wasn't the last thing he learned from Clark. He learned to have
faith in people again. He discovered the pain of believing he'd been betrayed
and how to forgive. He gained the capacity to apologize when he should and to
accept things that seemed impossible.
In return, he'd taught Clark to relax. Taught him to accept his limitations and
live comfortably inside his own skin. He'd given Clark the pragmatism he so
desperately needed to tame his idealism into something closer to realistic
expectations, both of himself and the world around him.
They taught each other how to love and how to accept love in return.
In the rustling tranquility of the night, Lex leans his head back on Clark's
shoulder. Smooth lips caress the skin behind his ear in a promise, but neither
of them stir. The coals will blaze soon enough, but for now, they can both enjoy
what they've earned.
Time to be still.
-- The End --