Merry Little Christmas
There are probably a thousand things he likes about moments just like this. A neat, typed list in his head, forever being modified, added to, considered, but the best thing is always just--this.
It's peace, or something like it.
He likes how Clark falls asleep, in this tangled ball of limbs and skin and sheet. Likes how Clark's always touching him, like he can't quite sleep without it, sometimes nothing more than the butterfly pressure of fingertips on his chest, a hand wrapped around his arm, a forehead against his shoulder. Likes the little snores and the shivers just beneath the skin and the way Clark curls up closer when it's cold.
Likes the nights when he doesn't have to share, when he falls asleep and Clark's there when he wakes up, grumpy and irritable and rumpled and beautiful.
"Lex?" Sleepy voice, and the entire mattress shifts with Clark's weight, making Lex slide into the dip made by that big body, and he snickers to himself when a big hand settles uncertainly on his stomach over the sheet.
Likes how Clark can still be so genuinely uncertain after almost an entire year.
"Hmm?" A tentative brush of lips against his cheek that he turns into, catching that full mouth. He likes how he can still surprise Clark with a kiss, how Clark's body melts into him like warm wax, like something he can shape by will alone.
"Mom--" Clark murmurs when Lex pulls back for a breath, but it sounds absent and Clark's already leaning forward again. Lex grins.
"Mm. Good way to ruin the mood."
Dark eyes open, looking curiously into his, before the smile breaks loose. "I actually have a point to saying that."
"Glad it didn't come up randomly then."
Clark laughs softly, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling briefly. "It didn't. Mom wants you over for Christmas dinner."
"And amazingly, I'm almost sure I have a meeting in Zurich that day." Though the amusement value of seeing Jonathan Kent's disapproving face over the corpse of a turkey has its own appeal.
"Whatever. Maybe I should rephrase that. Mom says you *are* coming over for Christmas dinner."
Lex sits up, looking down at Clark. Rumpled and too-awake for two in the morning, and definitely not quite meeting his eye.
"Why is your mother showing a sudden interest in where I spend Christmas, Clark?"
See, Clark can lie. Lex knows this. And can do it well. Just not in the same sentence as discussing his mother.
"I--well." Clark stops, obviously thinking. "You know that thing where a mother always knows stuff?"
"Jesus Christ." Fuck Zurich. Zimbabwe sounds good.
"Well, she sort of--knows."
This is not a moment that belongs in Lex's bed at two in the morning during the List of Things Lex Likes. This is part of the List of Things Lex Fears. Martha and Jonathan Kent figure in several of those.
"How?" He should have pants. To discuss Clark's mother, pants should be involved. Where *are* they anyway? Oh, yes, that would be in several pieces in the living room. That happens when your lover takes the term 'fuck me' as a literal, right-now sort of thing.
The flush is--really spectacular, and Lex had thought he'd seen them all. But this one--red spreading in a semi-oval pattern outward, engulfing all skin that got in its way, and ripe tomatoes had nothing on Clark's face and neck, and dear God, his chest.
Oh damn. This can't be good.
"She--found something. Sort of."
"What?" Condoms in Clark's suitcase? Well, that's pretty non-person specific, so no. Hickies? Right, laugh at that one, Lex.
"Um." The dark eyes fix on the ceiling. "That would be your boxers."
"How would she know--"
"Lex. Who on earth besides you wears *purple silk*?"
This used to be on the likes list. Lex likes Clark wearing his clothes. So few would fit him, but the boxers--yes, that *used* to be on the list. It isn't now.
Clark's mother saw Lex's boxers.
Clark takes a deep breath and Lex wonders if he'll have any fetishes left at this rate.
"Sort of--on me."
Lex--needs to lie down. Soft, warm cotton, another liked thing. Right now, not liked. Metropolis right now? Not liked. Martha saw--
"You wore them at home?"
"Nooo--she sort of came by my dorm. Um. When I was on my way--to see you. Today."
Today. A few hours ago. Well before the entire sex in the living room or the blowjob in the dining room or the two hours of foreplay also known as dinner, and let's not forget all the stuff *since* they got to bed, Martha Kent had been looking at her son wearing Lex's *boxers*.
He may never get an erection again.
"You have to meet the family."
Lex rolls over, and while in actuality, he knows that hiding under pillows really won't make this go away, it's certainly a theory worth testing at this point. Several times. With several pillows.
Clark, inexplicably, keeps pulling them *off*.
"Lex, it won't be that bad."
Has Clark *met* Jonathan Kent? Or Martha Kent? Or God…oh God oh God, dinner with the Kents. Hi, lovely to see you again, long time since I've visited. No, the last time was well before I was *fucking your son*, but really, nice to be here. So that's the woodchipper, right?
"Clark, think about what you just said." He always knew Smallville would be the death of him.
Clark makes a noise--exasperation?--and the last defensive pillow is peeled away. Rolling on his back, Lex stares up at the ceiling.
"One, Mom sounded really positive, and she wouldn't invite you if she was--you know, anti-relationship or anything."
"What--*exactly*--did you tell her?" It's good to have information. Lex *likes* information.
"That we're dating, we have been for awhile. She sort of guessed the sex part. That yeah, you know about the thing--"
Another exasperated noise. "The alien thing. And that so far, you know, besides a few torture sessions and two dissections, you're taking it really well."
Is this supposed to be humor?
"Mom's okay with it."
See, Martha's not the big problem in this scenario.
"And your dad is of course, thrilled." Thrilled to dig a grave in the backyard, right under those white roses, Lex is sure. "Let me guess--Jonathan doesn't know."
Clark sighs, picking at the sheet. "She said that--that it was up to me--us--to tell him."
"*Us*." Determined now. "After dinner, we tell Dad. And Grandpa--"
"And Grandma. And--okay, here's the thing. Christmas dinner is a huge deal. There's lots of--family there. Mom thinks it would be--good, um, for you to meet them."
A Kentish family hell.
Clark sighs, curling up against him again, and Lex *knows* it's deliberate. Warm hand light against his stomach in that almost-absent stroking that--no no no. Will not be manipulated.
"Lex, come on. Relationship. Remember?"
"Do I make you have dinner with my dad?"
"You made me wear a suit." Well, yes, there's that. "You made me eat sushi and caviar. You made me *dance* in public. You made me--"
"Mea culpa." But those were educational things. And unlikely to result in a shallow grave.
"You say, let's move in together next semester. Now, could be wrong here, but you know, that might clue them in--"
"Lots of people have roommates." Okay, so even Lex wouldn't buy that one. "It's not that I'm against telling them, Clark--"
"Before your memoirs are published?"
Mmm. There goes that fantasy.
"Just--Clark. We could go skiing."
"Oh, that wouldn’t' be a clue either. Sorry Dad, can't get to Christmas this year, I'm going skiing with Lex in a totally platonic vacation."
"You're such a brat."
"You're scared of my family."
Yes. Exactly. "I love your family." It's even mostly true. At a distance. Three hours is great for that sort of thing. Entire countries work well with Dad. "But--"
"We're going. Vacation starts Thursday. We can leave on Saturday and stay through Christmas Day on Tuesday."
And it's settled. Somehow, the Alps are exchanged for--Smallville. With the Kents. And the Clarks--oh, that's actually funny, and Lex grins as Clark scoots closer, one arm stretched out around him, dark hair brushing against his shoulder.
"Lex." Quiet now. Turning his head, Lex can just see dark eyes. Worried. "You--I know I'm pushing on this."
"A little." And when the horror recedes, Lex is sure there'll be a warm glow that Clark's that determined to get this absolutely concrete and settled. Clark *wants* to do this.
"If you want--I mean, I know you want to keep it a secret and all--"
What? "Secret? What secret?"
A tiny shrug. "Um. Me. Us. This thing."
"Alien thing or relationship thing?"
The snort's cute. "Both."
Okay, no. "Clark, that's not--" True, exactly. "You're a sophomore at MetU. I didn't want you to have to deal with--well, reporters outside your classroom. Or your dorm. Or your shower, for that matter."
Another tiny shrug. "You have a career. I get that--"
Oh Jesus Christ. "This has nothing to do with my career." Yes, you've made a mess of this, Lex. Oh such a fucking mess. "Clark." Easier to roll over and look at him. "I'm not hiding this. I was waiting."
"Well, for you to get comfortable, for one." This is going badly. "Clark, if you're ready--"
Well, that was easier than the conversation Lex had been planning out for a few weeks. Of course, it couldn't be somewhere safe, like a major reception with thousands of bloodthirsty reporters, oh no. Clark wants to do this first with his *family*.
Lex feels a moment of nostalgia for nosy reporters before shaking it off.
"Okay. Christmas it is."
I am so very not thinking about the Dentist tomorrow.