Day Two: Guardian of Night

Clark watches at night. Metropolis rips itself open, pours the helpless before him and Lois’ hair is a dark puddle across the pale skin of Lex’s back.

He watches them sleep – a warm pile of purple satin and sex-stated limbs, the lax spread of Lex’s fingers on Lois’ hip. He returns after the fire in the warehouse – Lois’ leg curves across Lex’s – after the mugging on Fourth and Broad – Lex is sprawled on his stomach, Lois tucked around him – after pulling a man from a crumpled car – their fingers are twined together on the pillow. When he can’t watch, he listens.

Between the city’s pleas – Superman Superman Superman – he hears Lex breathe softly and Lois’ hand rasp quietly over the curve of Lex’s shoulder. He hears the slide of Lois’ cheek against her pillow, her low sigh as she rolls over. Lex murmurs her name, and Lois moans in answer. Clark hears their bodies untangle and unwrap and come back together.

He leaves a young woman behind in an alley after he’s knocked her attacker unconscious, and he returns.

Lois softens under Lex’s hands, she giggles and purrs when Lex touches her. Lex cracks her into pieces, gets inside her and weakens her. She hides these parts of herself in Lex’s bed, stores them there, in that bedroom – where no one but Lex can know them, no one but Lex can touch them.

Lex’s mouth turns up on one side when Lois pokes him in the ribs; he rubs his cheek against her shoulder when he turns to her and brushes his fingers against the swell of her breast.

And no one knows what he’s like there, with her – no one but Clark. He keeps intimate guard from the shadowed rooftop one building over.

Lex is kissing down the curve of Lois’ spine, over her hip, following every kiss with his fingers. He is turning her over and her eyes are sleepy bright and her arm runs slowly down Lex’s side.

Clark watches. He watches as Lex enters Lois, as Lex pulls Lois to him deeply, closely, pulls himself inside her and back out again. He sees the easy rhythm of Lex’s hips into Lois, the answer in her body as she arches up, as her head falls back and her eyes close.

Lex drops kisses on her closed eyelids the way he used to grant Clark favors – generously, without hesitation, and slides into Lois with the same easy grace he used to push Clark away. Lex kisses along her jaw, teeth nipping at her skin and Clark can almost feel them, like words – You made your decision, Clark. You chose this, Clark.

You should leave, Clark.

Lex lets Lois take him, lets her have him. He pulls her against his body, kisses her on the mouth with reddened lips, and she bites at his neck. Clark knows what will happen next. He knows Lex’s lips will twist with pleasure, that his hands will grab Lois’ hips, hard, and that his thrusts will get harder, faster. He knows Lois will toss her head back and forth, clench her eyes tight and wrap her legs around Lex’s waist.

He knows that when Lex comes, it will be with Lois’ name slipping from his lips and Lois’ hands gripping the back of Lex’s neck as she pulls his face into the curve of her neck.

Later, Lex will stroke Lois’ hair. His fingers will smooth through her long, dark hair and he will smile at her with Clark’s smile – the smile that Clark used to have, used to get, used to own – and then Lex will lie on his back, Lois will settle her head on his shoulder, and they will sleep. Lex and Lois have each other at night.

Superman has them during the day.

Lois’ eyes are so intense when she looks at Superman, her lashes waving slowly when she brushes her hair back from her face with one pale hand. Her fingers are so gentle on his arm, her voice low and clear when she says his name. Superman has her admiration, and he could even have more – all he would have to do is smile at her, scoop her into his arms and fly her home, linger in the doorway and stare at her. Superman could make her eyes tender, her mouth soften at the edges, and she would be just as soft in his arms as in Lex’s.

He saves Lex from maniacs with bombs, and exploding factories, and armed kidnappers. He has Lex when they’re high in the air, away from everyone, with Lex’s arms wrapped around his neck. He has Lex when they land on the roof of the penthouse, and the smell of Lex’s soap and sweat lingers on Clark’s uniform as he flies away.

Everyone sees that Superman has Lex, everyone sees Superman picks Lex up in the crook of his arm, everyone sees Lex’s head tuck to his chin against the rush of air, and everyone sees Lex shake Superman’s hand and turn away.

Superman shares Lex with the world, he shares Lois with the world, but Clark has nothing, nothing at all.

Lois doesn’t have to share Lex. She doesn’t have to share the nights she spends in Lex’s bed with anyone else. No one else sees Lex tuck a curl behind her ear, or squeeze her shoulder while she types on the computer, or cover her small hand with his as they sit on the sofa. She doesn’t have to share how his lips brush hers softly, or how his tongue slips around the lobe of her ear, or how he smoothes his thumb over the ridge of her brow and kisses her cheek.

They get away with pretending that they don’t fill in each other’s rough borders, that they haven’t both pushed Clark away.

He watches because he wants it, and this is how he gets it, this is how he knows. It’s the want – the deep tight want twisting hot and hard inside his chest – that makes him stay here, watching, watching all night, every night.

They shouldn’t be able to hide like this, to pretend they are tough and strong to the world, to present a picture of hardened eloquence. Most of all, they shouldn’t hide from Clark.

Clark wants them both, and has neither.

The dull heat in his stomach gets tighter and tighter and his hands curl into fists against his legs. He had them, he had them – Clark had them and they pushed him away.

Lois shouldn’t pretend she didn’t kiss him with slick lips and wine-sweet breath as they stood by the window of her apartment. She shouldn’t pretend she didn’t laugh and tell him they were both drunk, and go home Smallville, see you in the morning.

Lex shouldn’t pretend his mouth wasn’t cold and twisted, his eyes hard as his hand gripped the smooth metal of the doorknob. He shouldn’t pretend he didn’t push Clark out of his life with his lies and betrayal, or that he didn’t close the door with a curt nod and even stare.

Damn them both. Damn them as they sleep curled around one another, curled into their lies. Damn them for pretending they’re happy, for touching each other, for having each other. For having anything at all.

Clark wants to fly as fast as he can, as long as he can, break apart stars with his fingers and fling the remnants back to earth. He wants to shake Lois, he wants to grab Lex by the shoulders. He wants to yell at them, curse at them, fuck them both until they take him back.

They chose each other over him and Clark can’t go back, because they won’t let him. And he wants to go back – he wants Lex’s hand to brush against his sleeve as he walks out of Lex’s office, wants Lex to linger in the doorway, his mouth turned up in a small smile when Clark waves over his shoulder. He wants to go back to Lois’ apartment, wants to pull her to him and tell her that he’s sober, that he means it, that he wants to stay.

Because if he had them back – if Clark had those moments back, he’d make them hear him, see him. He’d make them understand. Lex and Lois had been the ones who never opened up to him, who never gave him a chance to explain. They’d made Clark fuck it all up, with the way they just never damn listened, because if they had listened, if they really knew him, then Lex wouldn’t keep pushing for answers and Lois would see past the glasses and mismatched tie.

Clark wouldn’t fuck it up again, not if they didn’t make him. He could do it better a second time, it could all be so much better, somehow.

The penthouse has been dark and quiet for hours now. Clark watches, and listens. When a pale sun rises behind the clouds, Clark leaves.