scribblinlenore | First Round of Drabbles

I've been having lots of fun today with

supergrover24's icon/drabble idea. Thanks to everyone who picked an icon and asked for a drabble. Here's the first round of them:

For

svmadelyn:

It is not a bad dream exactly, just stubborn, the same scene night after night. Clark's footfalls are light, carefree on the dock. The sun shines off the water and in his hair. He stops at the edge to look out a moment, then shrugs out of his shirt, flings it playfully onto the grass.

He smiles over his shoulder. "Are you coming?"

Lex always wakes up then.

In the afternoons, in real life, they play pool. Clark leans in to make a shot, thigh pressed against Lex's, the brush of their sleeves as he sends the four ball into the right pocket, too close, not nearly close enough. A quick glance through lowered lashes, a smile that seems to promise something, and then he is once again moving away, just out of reach.

And Lex realizes. How dreams take their cue from life.

For

bonibaru:

(This one is inspired by the SV novel City.)

The absence of fear, Lex is surprised to find, feels very much like the absence of gravity, weightless, empty.

When the Yakuza came for him, he'd been leaden with terror. The first day, they'd used intimidation, the next garden-variety torture. The third day, they took his hand to show him they meant business. It wasn't until the fourth day that he could finally convince them who really had their money.

Since his miraculous "escape," his father has been to see him a good half dozen times. He always wants to know the same thing.

"You never said how you managed your release."

Lex always shrugs. "Sometimes the tables just turn in your favor."

His father nods, but his fear is as ponderous as a dark star. When Clark arrives for his daily visit, Lionel makes his excuses and leaves.

Clark frowns at the suddenness of his departure. "Is everything okay between you and your dad?"

"It will be soon," Lex says in a dead voice.

If he feels anything at all, it is simply satisfaction.

For the first time that Lex can remember, Clark actually looks afraid.

For

missu:

Another afternoon at the Talon, and Lex is sprawled in the easy chair by the window, going through a stack of paperwork. Clark sits nearby on the sofa, nose buried in a history book.

Pete has snagged a stool at one end of the bar, trying to decode the mystery of polynomial equations. At the other end, Chloe and Lana huddle together over a glossy magazine, snickering to themselves. Pete doesn't ask what the article's about, just in case it has something to do with feminine hygiene.

The girls try to keep their voices down, but he's sitting too close not to overhear them.

"Is there lingering eye contact?" Lana reads.

"Of course," Chloe answers.

"Leaning in, invading each other's personal space?"

Chloe glances over her shoulder. "Even as we speak."

Lana follows the direction of her gaze and smiles. "A big yes on that one."

"Do they smile at each other more than they do other people?"

"Totally," they both say at the same time, and it makes them snort with laughter.

"Okay, let's see what the total is," Chloe says. "Wow, they got 99 points out of a hundred. They definitely have the hots for each other."

"Not that we needed a Cosmo quiz to tell us that," Lana says.

Chloe nods. "But do you really think they don't realize it?"

"For some people, denial is a way of life."

Pete finally stops even pretending to study. "Okay, what are you guys talking about?"

They shoot a nervous glance at each other,

"Um, we were just…" Chloe stammers.

"We took a quiz to see if the couple over there are secretly in love with each other," Lana confesses.

Pete glances around the room and turns back to them totally confused. "Who? The only people sitting together are Clark and Lex."

Lana coughs.

Chloe rolls her eyes. "It seems denial is a way of life for a lot of people, Lana."

They both laugh. Pete lets out an offended huff and goes back to his math book. He'd ask just what the hell they mean by that, but he suspects he has a better chance of understanding trigonometry than he does women.

For

permetaform:

The peace rally has dispersed, and the soldier should be on his way back to the barracks. Duty demands it, the twin god of honor that his father has taught him to worship.

But the blaze of intelligent blue eyes from the other side knocks him out of his orbit. That is how he tries to explain it to himself as he falls in beside the other man, a decision that is both wordless and mutual.

When they get to the man's apartment, he almost balks. India print everywhere, the heavy scent of patchouli that does not quite cover the more cloying odor of pot. The place matches the man, who is bearded and wild-haired, dressed like a workman, but with beaded bracelets on his wrists, some kind of amulet on a bit of cord around his neck.

The man's smile is quick and only a little mocking. "Don't worry. I won't try to turn you into a peacenik. Or a communist."

After their clothes come off, the soldier regains his equilibrium. The glide of skin, quivering, fur-covered belly beneath his tongue, heft of a straining cock in his hand, salt on his lips--this he knows well. When the other man enters him, he screams first and then begs, words that take him very far away from everything he's supposed to believe in.

When it's over, he lies with his head pillowed on the other man's stomach. Shadows creep across the floor as the sun goes down. The call of duty and honor, merely held in abeyance, stirs in him again. Only words are left between them now, I have to go, severing the last of their unlikely connection.

Before he can get them out, though, the other man does what the soldier most fears. He touches his cheek, smiles at him with the gentlest kind of understanding and says, "Stay."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

fleegull.livejournal.com

Yay! Lenore fics...and a bunch of em at once!

From:

Not a homecoming queen

First Round of Drabbles

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