WIP: You Can Call Me Al (Part Ten)
May. 23rd, 2005 06:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scribblinlenoreA short update. I hope to post more before the end of the week. Hope. *g*
Title: You Can Call Me Al
Author: Lenore
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating: This part R, NC-17 very soon
Category: AU, Romance
Summary: Lex gets lost, and Clark claims him.
Links to Previous Parts:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten:
You Can Call Me Al
by Lenore
Part Ten
Clark opens his eyes the next morning utterly disoriented. Part of it is simply that he slept deeply, profoundly, for the first time in years, and he's left with the same sense of displacement he imagines a time traveler would experience, waking up a veritable stranger in his own bed. The other part of it, of course, is Al, whose colonial aspirations are no less grandiose in sleep than they are in life. Clark finds himself thoroughly conquered, Al's dozing weight draped over him, one arm thrown across his chest in a blatant act of ownership. It takes a few seconds for Clark's sluggish brain to sift through all the sensory input, send the message that not only is Al lying on top of him, smelling wonderfully sleepy and familiar, but he's also hard, his erection pressed hotly against Clark's thigh. The realization cuts through Clark's mental fog with the efficiency of a blade, and the effect is physical and immediate.
There is a difference, though, between what passes for a good idea in the middle of the night and what seems okay in the brutal clarity of day, and Clark frantically calculates how he can get out from under Al and out of bed without waking him. He carefully pushes the covers back and starts to inch toward the edge of the mattress, but it's all in vain when Al's eyes snap open, gaze trained sharply on him, freezing him in place. Al props himself up on one elbow and studies him leisurely, and Clark wishes for what has to be the gazillioneth time in his life that he was a person who could talk himself out of situations. But just like all the previous occasions when he's had this fragile hope, no words come, and it's unlikely Al would listen anyway, not with such a single-minded expression on his face, like something chiseled in stone. He leans down in predatory fashion, cups Clark's jaw in his hand, and kisses him as if he has all the time in the world and doesn't plan to stop what he's doing anytime soon.
Nothing has ever been a foregone conclusion in Clark's life; even the laws of physics have proven negotiable. But from the very beginning, there has been a sense of inevitability to this, to Al--Lex--what Clark imagines gravity must feel like to everyone else, the pull so strong that you can't fight it, don't even bother to question it. There's something reassuringly normal about that, and maybe that's why he stops trying to deny it, brings his hands up to frame Al's face, kisses him back like he has no plans for any future beyond this moment.
Al makes a small, satisfied sound and stretches out on top of him, aggressive in his triumph. Clark runs a hand over his rumpled T-shirt, feeling the muscles beneath it, the heat of his skin. He tastes the sourness of sleep in Al's mouth, something he's surprised to realize is a new experience, no room for sleepovers in the alien crime-fighter's life. He finds it unaccountably intimate, and that sparks the need for more, for discovery. He moves his hand very slowly down Al's back, exploring, letting his hand come to rest on the firm curve of Al's ass, stroking him through the threadbare fabric of his pajamas.
Clark has a streak of the conqueror in him too, he's always known it, and he flips Al over onto his back, lies on him, letting Al feel him, his need. The scent of Al's arousal deepens, and his chest rises sharply, falls heavily, as if he is not averse to being an occupied territory. Clark smiles at that and lowers his head, lavishes kisses on Al's neck. Al tilts his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, and Clark likes that he likes it, almost too much. He lingers there, making Al moan, make him tremble. Al spreads his legs, shifts his body, rocks his hips, and Clark draws in a loud, urgent breath as their cocks rub together through damp fabric. He responds instinctively, hips moving in answer to Al's, face buried in the curve of his neck, breathing in warmth and sweat.
It's the tugging at the hem of his shirt that makes him pull away, just long enough for Al to get the T-shirt over his head.
The pink tip of Al's tongue peeks out from between his lips as he stares, hands moving in slow circles over Clark's chest. "You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"
Their eyes meet, and Clark feels the heat rising in his cheeks. He's never much considered the matter, and no one else has ever said so, at least not like this, with such intense conviction, making the word mean so much. Clark kisses him again, slips his hands under his shirt, stroking his sides. There's a great sense of luxury in inevitability, and he takes his time, relishing every touch, every kiss, knowing that very soon he's going to have Al naked and under him, nothing to stop him.
Maybe it's this thought that jinxes him, that makes the phone ring, loudly, insistently, only a split second later.
Al tightens his arms around Clark's neck. "Don't answer it." He lays a flurry of kisses over Clark's chest as if to convince him.
Clark wants--tries--to ignore it, but it just won't stop ringing.
"It might be an emergency," he says between kisses.
Al's answer is to slip his hand into Clark's underwear. Clark goes rigidly still, biting his lip so hard that if he were anyone else he'd taste his own blood. Al moves his hand, and Clark starts to shake. The phone goes quiet, and all he can hear then is the dull roar of his own heart pounding in his ears. To his voodoo way of thinking, the message is clear enough, that this is right, no reason to deny himself.
Al strokes him more deliberately, and Clark digs his fingers into the sheets. Only the fact that Al picked them out keeps him from shredding them. He wants to come, and he wants this to go on a very long time, and he feels too good to care about the contradiction. He braces his arms and thrusts into Al's hand, and Al pushes his underwear down past his knees, staring and licking his lips, and that's so just unbearably hot that Clark has to clench his hands, squeeze his eyes closed. Because he's going to…
The phone blares, and Clark's eyes snap open, all the air forced out of his lungs. "Fuck!" he curses when he can draw a breath again and flops onto his back. Al makes a wildly frustrated noise that Clark empathizes with completely. He's going to kill whoever keeps calling. He turns on his side, kisses Al and promises, "I'll get rid of them."
He gets out of bed, strides out to the living room, yanks up the phone. "What?"
"Oh, Clark, there you are," Mrs. Henderson's voice flutters over the line. "I was beginning to think you weren't at home, dear."
Clark slowly lets out his breath, steeling himself to be patient. She's old, she's old, be nice, she's old. "Yeah, I was, uh, kind of in the middle of something."
"I won't keep you then, dear. I just wanted to make sure you and your husband were still planning on coming over for dinner tonight. I've been so looking forward to it."
Clark frowns. "Um, well--" It's difficult to think when all he wants is to get back to Al, and rather disconcerting to be talking to Mrs. Henderson when his body is in such a whipped-up frenzy. "You know, I really don't remember--"
"It was the last time you were over to the house, to fix the exhaust hose on the dryer." A problem that seemed suspiciously as if it had been caused by someone intentionally pulling it loose, Clark recalls. "I was asking how your husband was getting along, if he was ready for some company yet, and you said you'd both been rather busy around the farm, and I said overwork would be the worst thing for him, and the two of you had better come over for dinner, because some relaxation would do him a world of good, help him get his memory back lickety-split."
"But we never talked about a day--"
"Well, of course we did, Clark. We said your next free weekend, and here it is Friday already." Her voice takes on a plaintive quality, "I've been planning the menu for days. I do hope you can still make it."
He does his best to hold back an exasperated sigh. Since Mrs. Henderson first learned of Al's existence, she's been hell bent on getting a closer look at him, wheedling Clark at every opportunity to introduce them. Clark knows too well that his own pitiful will is no match for an old lady hot on the trail of a story she can share with the girls down at Dulcie's Beauty Parlor.
"I'll talk it over with Al," he says at last, just to get her off the phone.
"Wonderful! Let's say six o'clock, shall we?"
"But--"
"Tell your husband I look forward to meeting him." She hangs up cheerfully, before Clark can lodge a word of protest.
"Just great," he mutters to himself as he puts down the phone. He treads back to the bedroom and calls out to Al, "Um, we kind of got corralled into dinner--" He stops in his tracks.
Al has kicked the covers back, and he's stretched out languidly on his side, nude and aroused and waiting for Clark.
Clark tries to remember what he was saying, "Mrs. Henderson-- She does this guilt thing, and she's been dying to meet you and--" He stares.
Al doesn't take his eyes off Clark either, doesn't even seem to blink, everything about him an invitation.
Clark stutters, "I hope you don't mind. I said we'd come."
Al shrugs and smiles. "Whatever you want." He rubs his hand in a lazy circle next to him, the spot that belongs to Clark. "Come back to bed."
Clark takes a step toward him. He can almost convince himself that the sense of inevitability he felt before wasn't merely wishful thinking. Almost. The hitch is the way Al looks, so open and vulnerable, and Clark is a trick mirror, what you see isn't what you get. Suddenly he has Pete's voice in his head, Of course he's going to think he's supposed to have feelings for you, supposed to want to…
He goes to the bed and hastily pulls the blankets up to cover Al. "I've got that job over at the McCoy's today. I better get a move on."
Al's face freezes in surprise, and Clark doesn't wait for the anger to ignite in his eyes. He grabs his clothes off the back of the chair and flees. In the bathroom, he avoids the mirror, turning his face away as he closes the door. What the hell am I doing? The question pounds through his head, but he has no answer for it.
He mechanically strips off his clothes, turns the water up as hot as it will go and steps into the shower. Despite everything, he's still hard and takes care of it in a perfunctory way, not letting himself think about Al. He finishes cleaning up and gets dressed, takes a tentative step out of the bathroom. He hears thumping coming from the kitchen and finds Al making breakfast. He hovers by the center island, and when Al catches sight of him, his expression turns even more sour, as if he can tell with a mere glance what Clark was just doing in the shower.
"I, uh--" But there's nothing to say, no way to explain, not without resorting to the truth.
Al sets down a plate with an unhappy clatter, and it takes Clark a moment to realize that it's meant for him.
"Thanks," he says quietly as he sits down at the table.
Al doesn't say anything or even turn around. He stands at the sink drinking his coffee, staring out the window. Clark eats quickly and gets up to go.
"I'll, uh, see you later," he says awkwardly, hesitating at the door.
He doesn't really expect an answer, so it comes as a surprise when Al says, "Here." And hands him a brown paper bag. "I made you lunch." Clark looks down at the bag and up at Al, unable to hold back a lopsided smile, which makes Al scowl darkly. "Only because we need to stay on our budget."
Al crosses his arms over his chest as if daring Clark to believe otherwise. Clark nods very solemnly, but it just doesn't do any good. Pretending never does. He lays a hand lightly against Al's cheek and tells him, "I'm sorry." And kisses him. After a stubborn moment or two, Al relents, and Clark feels his fingers curl into his biceps, the soft touch of his tongue.
"Don't think this means you're off the hook," Al tells him after they've kissed a thorough goodbye, "because I still expect you to make it up to me."
Clark smiles and brushes his lips over Al's forehead. "I'll see you what I can do. Mrs. Henderson wants us there at six. I'll be home before then."
Al nods a little distractedly. "What do you think makes the proper hostess gift for a manipulative old busybody, anyway?"
It's clear that he's serious, and Clark laughs. He kisses him again and heads off to work feeling far more light-hearted than he possibly deserves.
Title: You Can Call Me Al
Author: Lenore
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating: This part R, NC-17 very soon
Category: AU, Romance
Summary: Lex gets lost, and Clark claims him.
Links to Previous Parts:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten:
You Can Call Me Al
by Lenore
Part Ten
Clark opens his eyes the next morning utterly disoriented. Part of it is simply that he slept deeply, profoundly, for the first time in years, and he's left with the same sense of displacement he imagines a time traveler would experience, waking up a veritable stranger in his own bed. The other part of it, of course, is Al, whose colonial aspirations are no less grandiose in sleep than they are in life. Clark finds himself thoroughly conquered, Al's dozing weight draped over him, one arm thrown across his chest in a blatant act of ownership. It takes a few seconds for Clark's sluggish brain to sift through all the sensory input, send the message that not only is Al lying on top of him, smelling wonderfully sleepy and familiar, but he's also hard, his erection pressed hotly against Clark's thigh. The realization cuts through Clark's mental fog with the efficiency of a blade, and the effect is physical and immediate.
There is a difference, though, between what passes for a good idea in the middle of the night and what seems okay in the brutal clarity of day, and Clark frantically calculates how he can get out from under Al and out of bed without waking him. He carefully pushes the covers back and starts to inch toward the edge of the mattress, but it's all in vain when Al's eyes snap open, gaze trained sharply on him, freezing him in place. Al props himself up on one elbow and studies him leisurely, and Clark wishes for what has to be the gazillioneth time in his life that he was a person who could talk himself out of situations. But just like all the previous occasions when he's had this fragile hope, no words come, and it's unlikely Al would listen anyway, not with such a single-minded expression on his face, like something chiseled in stone. He leans down in predatory fashion, cups Clark's jaw in his hand, and kisses him as if he has all the time in the world and doesn't plan to stop what he's doing anytime soon.
Nothing has ever been a foregone conclusion in Clark's life; even the laws of physics have proven negotiable. But from the very beginning, there has been a sense of inevitability to this, to Al--Lex--what Clark imagines gravity must feel like to everyone else, the pull so strong that you can't fight it, don't even bother to question it. There's something reassuringly normal about that, and maybe that's why he stops trying to deny it, brings his hands up to frame Al's face, kisses him back like he has no plans for any future beyond this moment.
Al makes a small, satisfied sound and stretches out on top of him, aggressive in his triumph. Clark runs a hand over his rumpled T-shirt, feeling the muscles beneath it, the heat of his skin. He tastes the sourness of sleep in Al's mouth, something he's surprised to realize is a new experience, no room for sleepovers in the alien crime-fighter's life. He finds it unaccountably intimate, and that sparks the need for more, for discovery. He moves his hand very slowly down Al's back, exploring, letting his hand come to rest on the firm curve of Al's ass, stroking him through the threadbare fabric of his pajamas.
Clark has a streak of the conqueror in him too, he's always known it, and he flips Al over onto his back, lies on him, letting Al feel him, his need. The scent of Al's arousal deepens, and his chest rises sharply, falls heavily, as if he is not averse to being an occupied territory. Clark smiles at that and lowers his head, lavishes kisses on Al's neck. Al tilts his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, and Clark likes that he likes it, almost too much. He lingers there, making Al moan, make him tremble. Al spreads his legs, shifts his body, rocks his hips, and Clark draws in a loud, urgent breath as their cocks rub together through damp fabric. He responds instinctively, hips moving in answer to Al's, face buried in the curve of his neck, breathing in warmth and sweat.
It's the tugging at the hem of his shirt that makes him pull away, just long enough for Al to get the T-shirt over his head.
The pink tip of Al's tongue peeks out from between his lips as he stares, hands moving in slow circles over Clark's chest. "You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"
Their eyes meet, and Clark feels the heat rising in his cheeks. He's never much considered the matter, and no one else has ever said so, at least not like this, with such intense conviction, making the word mean so much. Clark kisses him again, slips his hands under his shirt, stroking his sides. There's a great sense of luxury in inevitability, and he takes his time, relishing every touch, every kiss, knowing that very soon he's going to have Al naked and under him, nothing to stop him.
Maybe it's this thought that jinxes him, that makes the phone ring, loudly, insistently, only a split second later.
Al tightens his arms around Clark's neck. "Don't answer it." He lays a flurry of kisses over Clark's chest as if to convince him.
Clark wants--tries--to ignore it, but it just won't stop ringing.
"It might be an emergency," he says between kisses.
Al's answer is to slip his hand into Clark's underwear. Clark goes rigidly still, biting his lip so hard that if he were anyone else he'd taste his own blood. Al moves his hand, and Clark starts to shake. The phone goes quiet, and all he can hear then is the dull roar of his own heart pounding in his ears. To his voodoo way of thinking, the message is clear enough, that this is right, no reason to deny himself.
Al strokes him more deliberately, and Clark digs his fingers into the sheets. Only the fact that Al picked them out keeps him from shredding them. He wants to come, and he wants this to go on a very long time, and he feels too good to care about the contradiction. He braces his arms and thrusts into Al's hand, and Al pushes his underwear down past his knees, staring and licking his lips, and that's so just unbearably hot that Clark has to clench his hands, squeeze his eyes closed. Because he's going to…
The phone blares, and Clark's eyes snap open, all the air forced out of his lungs. "Fuck!" he curses when he can draw a breath again and flops onto his back. Al makes a wildly frustrated noise that Clark empathizes with completely. He's going to kill whoever keeps calling. He turns on his side, kisses Al and promises, "I'll get rid of them."
He gets out of bed, strides out to the living room, yanks up the phone. "What?"
"Oh, Clark, there you are," Mrs. Henderson's voice flutters over the line. "I was beginning to think you weren't at home, dear."
Clark slowly lets out his breath, steeling himself to be patient. She's old, she's old, be nice, she's old. "Yeah, I was, uh, kind of in the middle of something."
"I won't keep you then, dear. I just wanted to make sure you and your husband were still planning on coming over for dinner tonight. I've been so looking forward to it."
Clark frowns. "Um, well--" It's difficult to think when all he wants is to get back to Al, and rather disconcerting to be talking to Mrs. Henderson when his body is in such a whipped-up frenzy. "You know, I really don't remember--"
"It was the last time you were over to the house, to fix the exhaust hose on the dryer." A problem that seemed suspiciously as if it had been caused by someone intentionally pulling it loose, Clark recalls. "I was asking how your husband was getting along, if he was ready for some company yet, and you said you'd both been rather busy around the farm, and I said overwork would be the worst thing for him, and the two of you had better come over for dinner, because some relaxation would do him a world of good, help him get his memory back lickety-split."
"But we never talked about a day--"
"Well, of course we did, Clark. We said your next free weekend, and here it is Friday already." Her voice takes on a plaintive quality, "I've been planning the menu for days. I do hope you can still make it."
He does his best to hold back an exasperated sigh. Since Mrs. Henderson first learned of Al's existence, she's been hell bent on getting a closer look at him, wheedling Clark at every opportunity to introduce them. Clark knows too well that his own pitiful will is no match for an old lady hot on the trail of a story she can share with the girls down at Dulcie's Beauty Parlor.
"I'll talk it over with Al," he says at last, just to get her off the phone.
"Wonderful! Let's say six o'clock, shall we?"
"But--"
"Tell your husband I look forward to meeting him." She hangs up cheerfully, before Clark can lodge a word of protest.
"Just great," he mutters to himself as he puts down the phone. He treads back to the bedroom and calls out to Al, "Um, we kind of got corralled into dinner--" He stops in his tracks.
Al has kicked the covers back, and he's stretched out languidly on his side, nude and aroused and waiting for Clark.
Clark tries to remember what he was saying, "Mrs. Henderson-- She does this guilt thing, and she's been dying to meet you and--" He stares.
Al doesn't take his eyes off Clark either, doesn't even seem to blink, everything about him an invitation.
Clark stutters, "I hope you don't mind. I said we'd come."
Al shrugs and smiles. "Whatever you want." He rubs his hand in a lazy circle next to him, the spot that belongs to Clark. "Come back to bed."
Clark takes a step toward him. He can almost convince himself that the sense of inevitability he felt before wasn't merely wishful thinking. Almost. The hitch is the way Al looks, so open and vulnerable, and Clark is a trick mirror, what you see isn't what you get. Suddenly he has Pete's voice in his head, Of course he's going to think he's supposed to have feelings for you, supposed to want to…
He goes to the bed and hastily pulls the blankets up to cover Al. "I've got that job over at the McCoy's today. I better get a move on."
Al's face freezes in surprise, and Clark doesn't wait for the anger to ignite in his eyes. He grabs his clothes off the back of the chair and flees. In the bathroom, he avoids the mirror, turning his face away as he closes the door. What the hell am I doing? The question pounds through his head, but he has no answer for it.
He mechanically strips off his clothes, turns the water up as hot as it will go and steps into the shower. Despite everything, he's still hard and takes care of it in a perfunctory way, not letting himself think about Al. He finishes cleaning up and gets dressed, takes a tentative step out of the bathroom. He hears thumping coming from the kitchen and finds Al making breakfast. He hovers by the center island, and when Al catches sight of him, his expression turns even more sour, as if he can tell with a mere glance what Clark was just doing in the shower.
"I, uh--" But there's nothing to say, no way to explain, not without resorting to the truth.
Al sets down a plate with an unhappy clatter, and it takes Clark a moment to realize that it's meant for him.
"Thanks," he says quietly as he sits down at the table.
Al doesn't say anything or even turn around. He stands at the sink drinking his coffee, staring out the window. Clark eats quickly and gets up to go.
"I'll, uh, see you later," he says awkwardly, hesitating at the door.
He doesn't really expect an answer, so it comes as a surprise when Al says, "Here." And hands him a brown paper bag. "I made you lunch." Clark looks down at the bag and up at Al, unable to hold back a lopsided smile, which makes Al scowl darkly. "Only because we need to stay on our budget."
Al crosses his arms over his chest as if daring Clark to believe otherwise. Clark nods very solemnly, but it just doesn't do any good. Pretending never does. He lays a hand lightly against Al's cheek and tells him, "I'm sorry." And kisses him. After a stubborn moment or two, Al relents, and Clark feels his fingers curl into his biceps, the soft touch of his tongue.
"Don't think this means you're off the hook," Al tells him after they've kissed a thorough goodbye, "because I still expect you to make it up to me."
Clark smiles and brushes his lips over Al's forehead. "I'll see you what I can do. Mrs. Henderson wants us there at six. I'll be home before then."
Al nods a little distractedly. "What do you think makes the proper hostess gift for a manipulative old busybody, anyway?"
It's clear that he's serious, and Clark laughs. He kisses him again and heads off to work feeling far more light-hearted than he possibly deserves.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-05-23 10:32 pm (UTC)Hottest chapter yet!
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:42 pm (UTC)Thanks for hanging in there for my epic! *bg*
no subject
Date: 2005-05-23 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-23 10:56 pm (UTC)That was wonderful and very hot. I think I feel as frustrated as Lex!
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:43 pm (UTC)And I love your icon! It says it all. *g*
no subject
Date: 2005-05-23 11:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2005-05-23 11:05 pm (UTC)Looking forward to more.
*contemplating a proper hostess gift for a busy body*
heh
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-23 11:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-23 11:09 pm (UTC)He needs to tie Clark down to the bed and ravish him until Clark admits that he wants him and to hell with this whole nobility thing.
Of course, that's when Lionel is going to show up and throw a monkey wrench into the whole thing....
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:47 pm (UTC)So glad you're enjoying the story, doll. Thanks for hanging in there with me!
lovely
Date: 2005-05-23 11:12 pm (UTC)take care
nath
Hum... i'm not too sure about the "esthetically potentiality"...is it good spelling ?...i wonder
Re: lovely
Date: 2005-05-27 02:48 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading!
no subject
Date: 2005-05-23 11:30 pm (UTC)He leans down in predatory fashion, cups Clark's jaw in his hand, and kisses him as if he has all the time in the world and doesn't plan to stop what he's doing anytime soon.
I love this sentence. Actually, I love the whole thing.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-23 11:30 pm (UTC)I mean, um.
No, that's what I meant. *shakes fist wildly*
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:51 pm (UTC)Okay, okay, she had it coming. *bg*
no subject
Date: 2005-05-23 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-23 11:54 pm (UTC)He's going to kill whoever keeps calling.
Yeah, I think I might help you with that, Clark. They were about to have sex, dammit! Stupid Mrs Henderson.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 12:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 12:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 12:30 am (UTC)My, my, Clark, you sure are piling up a world o' pain for yourself.
I'm almost tempted to go looking for a summary of the movie, but I suspect it's dumber than your version, not to mention so sexist I will combust with rage, which isn't good.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:57 pm (UTC)Yes, you probably wouldn't like the original movie too much. I mean, I find a certain charm in it, but it's certainly more mean-spirited than my story.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 12:32 am (UTC)Wonderful!
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 12:35 am (UTC)I really loved how Clark thought of himself as a trick mirror, very brilliant (and heartwrenching) allegory!
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 12:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 01:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 03:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 01:43 am (UTC)*cough*
I'm loving the fic, hon.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 03:00 pm (UTC)So glad you're enjoying this, doll!
no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 01:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 03:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 01:58 am (UTC)I'm as frustrated as Al.
Yup. Clark better make it up to him and good.
The scent of Al's arousal deepens, and his chest rises sharply, falls heavily, as if he is not averse to being an occupied territory.
Nice line.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 03:02 pm (UTC)So glad you enjoyed this, doll. I appreciate your hanging in there for the long haul!
no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 02:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 03:02 pm (UTC)So glad you're enjoying this, doll! :)
no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 03:25 am (UTC)I also feel The Doom approaching -- Clark is really going to be made to pay when "Al" Remembers All... When will the evilness that is Lionel take another hand in events? Just precisely how pissed off will Lex be at his "husband"? (Ominous music in the background.) I cringe in advance on behalf of both of our boys.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 03:04 pm (UTC)*g*
no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 03:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-27 03:04 pm (UTC)