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Lex used to spend parties in the coatroom.
For eighteen years, he hid from the conversation and the glasses of champagne and the stares and the people who didn't really want to talk to him at all but felt they should because he was Lionel's son.
Now he stands in the open with a smile on his face because that's what Luthors do.
Shake a hand. Cast a smile. Raise a glass. Formalities.
Artificial, and that's what he feels he's gradually becoming.
"Having a good time, Lex?" Lionel asked him ten minutes before.
"One of the best parties I've been to," he lied, and Lionel knew he was lying because he smirked. "We should have them more often."
This evening might not be so absolutely draining were Clark anywhere to be found, but Lex hasn't seen him for the past half hour, and he figures Clark got tired and went home early, seeing as Lex had been too swept up in receiving lines and "stimulating" conversations to say anything more than, "Hi!" to him all evening. But he can't fault Clark; Lex supposes he would've left, too.
Lionel is engaged in conversation with some CEO who has flown in from New York City, now, and Lex very much doubts he'll be missed if he slips away for only a minute or two, enough time to clear his mind and return to the party more composed.
His favorite coat closet is on the first floor, just off of the entry hall. There are others, but they just aren't the same, and he can't explain exactly why. They just aren't, and that's enough for him. He skirts around visitors, shakes a few hands on his way out and empties a glass of champagne down his throat before he manages to clear the room unscathed and escape down the corridor and away from the chaos. He rushes down the staircase and avoids eye contact with the servants bustling around the entry hall, turns a corner and ducks into the hallway.
The door to the coatroom is partially open; whoever arrived last hasn't shut it properly, and he swings it open fully.
He hasn't done this for a few years; perhaps as many as five, he thinks. But really, it doesn't really feel like so very long ago.
Lex steps inside and closes his eyes against the dark, inhales the familiar scents of dust and fabric and perfume that linger on coats long after they've been strung up on brass hangers. He can feel his heartbeat slow as he stands in the midst of this quiet little eden tucked away in a world full of commotion. The noises from upstairs are muffled by the mohair and felt and animal skins lining the walls, and there is a sense of such safety, here, if for no other reason than he is alone and not having to pretend for one moment.
Then he hears it, a small gasp-like sound from somewhere toward the back of the room, and he casts an arm toward the doorway and flicks the light switch up to illuminate the room. There doesn't appear to be anyone present, but Lex has excellent hearing, and he is sure of what he's just heard. He takes another step forward and listens.
"Is someone in here?" he calls out, not panicked but cautious, and his voice is steady, arms confidently resting at his sides.
"It's just me," admits a voice, and Lex feels his cheeks redden a little when his heart skips a little strangely at the sound of it.
"...Clark?" he calls out after a pause long enough to swallow the surprise.
"Yeah."
And then Lex sees him. He's sitting behind a white fur abomination with his knees tucked up to his chest, and he has his chin resting on top of them. He's only half-visible, and Lex kneels down in the center of the room and peers in at him.
"What're you doing under there?" he asks, cocking his head to the side, bemused and curious.
Clark shrugs. Or rather, the coats pressing against his shoulder shift slightly, and Lex interprets these movements to be a shrug.
"Just thinking."
"In the coatroom?"
"I guess."
"Anything I can help with?"
"Not really. I guess I just felt out of place upstairs."
"I can understand that." He clears his throat and looks toward the door, then back again. "Mind if I join you?"
Lex is fairly sure that Clark just shook his head, so he pushes the coats aside and crawls in next to him.
"Thanks," he says.
"It's your coatroom," Clark answers. He is chewing on something that looks to be cake, and Lex motions toward it. Clark grins and says through the mouthful, "I figured I'd get hungry. D'you want some?"
"Thanks," Lex says, and Clark holds out a plate laden with what looks like half of the buffet table upstairs. Lex laughs and lifts a piece of celery in his fingers.
"No wonder you're too thin," Clark observes, taking another bite of chocolate and frosting.
"I am not," Lex defends, frowning genially, and he realizes that he's pouting and tries to stop but can't, and ends up with a smile on his face that he can't seem to turn down. He bites hard on the celery.
"Yes, you are," Clark says and looks him in the eye. "Even my mom thinks so."
Lex very nearly chokes on the fibers in his throat. "You talk about my weight with your mother?"
Clark frowns a little, then, and wipes at his mouth with the back of his right hand. "No. I mean, she brought it up, is all. I think she's worried about you."
"Oh, really."
"Yeah. You know she considers you part of the family."
"And I appreciate that. I couldn't imagine being part of a better one."
This makes Clark smile, and he takes another bite.
Lex continues, "Though I admit, it's a little strange thinking of you as my brother."
"How come? You were ready to accept it a couple years ago."
"I know that, but."
"But what?"
"Nothing. How is that?"
"The cake?"
"No, the fork. Yes, the cake."
"Good," Clark says, and lifts a forkful to Lex's mouth. "Try it," he says, and Lex stares down at the offering.
He hesitates, then opens his mouth slightly and leans in. Clark places the cake inside Lex's mouth with a pleased look on his face. The cake is room temperature, mild yet satisfying, and as Lex's tongue slides over the metal of the fork to swirl away any remaining frosting, he realizes that this same fork has been inside of Clark's mouth, too, and something about that thought causes his cheeks to flush so hot that he pulls away very quickly and catches the inside of his cheek on one of the tongs.
He winces and presses a hand to his mouth, feeling more embarrassed than actually injured.
"Are you okay?" Clark asks, laying the fork down and handing Lex a napkin.
"I'm fine," he says, waving the napkin away. "You're right. That's good cake."
"Toldja," Clark says in a teasing voice, and Lex finds himself smiling again.
He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.
"So what're you doing down here?" Clark asks. "Shouldn't you be upstairs shaking hands with senators?"
"Probably."
"I bet that gets old after a while, huh."
"Exceedingly."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You're much more entertaining."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Lex opens his eyes a bit and peers to his left to see Clark smiling to himself while he chews on a carrot.
He presses the back of his hand against Clark's upper arm as a conversation starter and says, "So. How're things with Lana?"
Clark inhales and lets it out slowly, pursing his lips and wrinkling up his forehead as he sets the plate between them. "I don't know."
"Are you two still friends?"
Clark shrugs. "I think so. She accused me of stalking her."
Lex raises an eyebrow. "Were you stalking her?"
"No!" He pauses. "Not really. I was just making sure she was okay. I mean, she hardly knew that guy and he turned out to be a mutant and--"
"Clark?" Lex interrupts, but keeps his voice calm.
"What?"
"Maybe it's time you let her go."
And Clark is quiet, then, and keeps his face very still. He pokes at a fruit tart with the rest of his carrot and lets a raspberry fall from the plate and roll past his feet.
"I only say that because I care about your well being," Lex explains, because he's afraid he might have upset Clark with his quickly-chosen words.
Clark is tracing patterns on the tiled floor with his right index finger. "Yeah."
Lex wants to reassure him. "There will be other people," he says.
"Sure."
He wants this unease to end, so he jokes, "Hey. If you're lucky, you could end up with someone like me," only to regret every word once they escape from his throat. He coughs to cover his error.
Luckily, though, Clark laughs a little and bites at his lip and turns his head to the right and says, "Yeah, maybe."
"Here," Lex says, flushed and foolish, picking up the fork and spearing another bite of the cake. "Eat." Clark opens wide and Lex deposits the food inside his mouth.
"Thanks," he mumbles, and Lex bops him lightly on the nose.
Just then, there is a woman's voice outside the room, and footsteps seem to be growing louder with the passing second, and Lex hears Clark inhale and places a hand over his own mouth when he realizes that someone else is standing in the coatroom, now, barely inches away from his leather-clad toes. Someone who is very obviously talking to herself as she searches for her coat, mumbling about Lionel's hair being so long as to be "obscene!" and the lack of crabmeat on the appetizer table.
And for some reason, it's the funniest thing in the world, just now, and Lex finds himself laughing despite how hard he's trying not to. He is sitting in a coat closet with his best friend, eating cake and celery sticks.
He is sitting.
In a coat closet.
Hiding like some kid in the round clothes racks of a department store.
Eating cake and celery sticks.
Looking over at Clark isn't helping him quell the urge to laugh, either, because Clark's turning red and is biting down on his hand to keep from making any noise. This is so ridiculous and juvenile and fun that he can't believe he hasn't tried it more often.
Lex is quite convinced at one point that the woman never intends to leave, but she finally succeeds with buttoning up her coat and vacates the room in a little huff, and when he's sure she is far enough away not to hear him, he takes his hand away and starts to laugh. He laughs so hard his throat begins to hurt; and he can feel Clark's shoulder shaking beside him, so he knows Clark is laughing as well. He tries to think of another time when he has laughed like this and comes up blank. He is so very grateful to have someone to share this with, especially someone like Clark.
Turning his head, he means to say as much, but his eyes are drawn to the smudge of chocolate hiding in the junction of Clark's lips, and he can't bring himself to look away.
Clark notices and raises a hand to his mouth and wipes at it but doesn't remedy the problem. And everything is very still and the static in the air is almost audible.
"Lex?" Clark whispers, and Lex licks his lips and doesn't answer for a pause.
Finally, "You've, uh. You've got frosting. Right--" He reaches a hand toward Clark's face and brushes at the imperfection. "--there."
"Oh." Clark's face is pink, now, and he casts his eyes to the floor. "Thanks."
Lex nods and wishes he'd thought to bring along a bottle of brandy, at least, to loosen himself up. That's what he'd come here to do in the first place, relax, and instead he feels more twisted and confused than when he stood by Lionel's side and tried to remember why exactly it was he wanted to be rescued from that island to begin with.
He realizes that his thumb is still resting on Clark's mouth, and very gently, he slides it across Clark's lower lip, and Lex's eyes widen when Clark's breath catches and he closes his eyes and swallows.
And then, the most beautiful thing: Clark's lips close around the edge of Lex's thumb and press a kiss there.
Acceptance and consent without words, and Lex's stomach plummets. Warm heat furling low in his abdomen, and everything that seemed impossible the moment before is within his comprehension.
He could cry, he thinks, because he's so overwhelmed and terrified of what this means, but he's more scared of what will happen if he lets this moment pass him by. He works his fingers along Clark's jaw and through his hair to the back of his head, then pulls him forward and leans over until he can feel Clark's breath on his face. Foreheads pressed together, he listens to every breath and grasps Clark's hair tightly in his hand, then releases it and grabs again as though he will never have the chance to touch him after this.
Clark's hand is resting on Lex's left knee, his palm warm through Lex's wool pants, and he squeezes and suddenly, their mouths are together, pressed softly and awkwardly, chocolate and celery, as though neither of them is sure exactly what to do or how to do it. Lex only knows that this is the most earth-shattering kiss he's ever experienced and that he never, never wants it to end, no matter what, because for the first time he finally feels whole and right and real the way he never has at any other time in his life.
Because he's not acting, right now. This is the truth being spoken without a single word.
Every question answered, every doubt dispelled, every lingering feeling matched and amplified by these lips moving gently against his own, by the pressure on his leg, by the sting in his eyes and the wet heat on the side of his face.
Oh.
He is crying, something he's not allowed himself for many years -- too afraid of the vulnerability it brings. But he doesn't pull away and doesn't try to think up an excuse but kneads at Clark's waist with his left hand and breathes in what Clark exhales into his mouth and lets go. Trusts Clark with his insecurities and imperfections, his fears -- all of the things he has always been too afraid to show to anybody else.
He finally understands; this is what it means to be in love.
And then, it's all too much, and he has to let Clark pull him close and press his face into the white cotton shirt covering Clark's shoulder before he can begin to breathe again, and his shoulders shake from the sheer intimacy of this embrace. He has never wanted anything more than he wants this. And he has never been more certain or more scared or more anything.
"Clark?" he murmurs after a very long while, though he's not sure of what to say next, only that he doesn't think he'll ever be quite the same.
"Shh," Clark whispers, and Lex is quiet and burrows closer.
A hand is stroking his scalp, fingers softly exploring as though he is something so very precious, something so delicate and breakable. As though he is something very beautiful.
He wonders just how long he's been missing upstairs and if Lionel will be sending a search party after him soon. He might have been here for ten minutes, and he might have been here for an hour. Time doesn't matter right now. This exists outside of all reality, a moment he can keep locked in the back of his mind for even the greyest of mornings. He does not know how it will end, but only time determines such things, and he sets his concerns aside for now and leans further into the body against his, because now is the only thing that really matters, anyway.
"This is the best party I've ever been to," Clark confides, and Lex can hear the smile in his voice as the arms around him tighten.
"Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, me too."
.
He isn't lying.